CYNTHIA'S 
CHAUFFEUR 

By  LOUIS  TRACY 

The  scene  opens  in 
London  on  Derby  day. 
A  lovely  American  girl 
and  her  English  chap- 
eron had  engaged  a 
chauffeur  to  take  them 
in  his  car  on  a  thousand 
miles  run  for  ten  days. 
On  his  way  to  keep  the 
appointment  the  car 
met  with  an  accident, 
and  a  young  English- 
man, the  son  of  an  earl, 
happened  to  be  in  the 
vicinity.  The  chauffeur 
had  once  been  in  his 
employ,  and  when  he 
saw  his  distress  at  the 
passible  loss  of  a  good 
customer  he  thought 
it  would  be  a  fine  lark 
to  go  himself,  in  the 
guise  of  a  chauffeur,  and 
take  the  ladies  on  their 
journey. 

The  girl  was  beautiful 
and  the  pseudo  chauf- 
feur was  young  and  ro- 
mantic, and  one  of  the 
strangest  of  love  stories 
began. 


CYNTHIA'S  CHAUFFEUR 

\ 


BJJHX.  OF  CAW.  LIBRARY. 


is  »o  lovelier  garden  in  England  than  at  Wells  Palace" 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 


BY 

LOUIS  TRACY 


AUTHOR  OF 

THE  WINGS  OF  THE  MORNING, 
A  SON  OF  THE  IMMORTALS,  ETC..  ETC. 


Illustrations  by 
HOWARD  CHANDLER  CHRISTY 


NEW    YORK 

GROSSET   &   DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1910,  BY 
EDWARD    J.    CLODE 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTEB  PAGE 

I.     THE  HIRED  CAR 1 

II.     THE  FIRST  DAY'S  RUN       ,  ....  23 

III.     SOME  EMOTIONS — WITHOUT  A  MORAL         .  47 

IV.     SHADOWS — WITH  OCCASIONAL  GLEAMS       .  72 

V.     A  FLURRY  ON  THE  MENDIPS       ...  94 

VI.     A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  VAGARIES       .        .  119 

VII.     WHEREIN  CYNTHIA  TAKES  HER  OWN  LINE  143 

VIII.     BREAKERS  AHEAD          .        .        .        .        .167 

IX.     ON  THE  WYE 191 

X.     THE  HIDDEN  FOUNTS  OF  EVIL  -.        .        .  216 
XI.     THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WAYS       .        .        .  239 
XII.     MASQUES,  ANCIENT  AND  MODERN       .        .  260 
XIII.     WHEREIN  WRATH  BEGUILES  GOOD  JUDG- 
MENT          283 

XIV.     — AND  GOOD  JUDGMENT  YIELDS  TO  FOLLY  307 

XV.     THE  OUTCOME 324 

XVI.     THE  END  OF  ONE  TOUR:  THE  BEGINNING 

OF  ANOTHER    .  344 


2133189 


CYNTHIA'S  CHAUFFEUR 


CYNTHIA'S   CHAUFFEUR 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  HIRED  CAR 

DERBY  Day  fell  that  year  on  the  first  Wednes- 
day in  June.  By  a  whim  of  the  British 
climate,  the  weather  was  fine;  in  fact,  no 
rain  had  fallen  on  southern  England  since  the1 
previous  Sunday.  Wise  after  the  event,  the  news- 
papers published  cheerful  "  forecasts,"  and  certain 
daring  "  experts  "  discussed  the  probabilities  of  a 
heat  wave.  So  London,  on  that  bright  Wednesday 
morning,  was  agog  with  excitement  over  its  annual 
holiday ;  and  at  such  a  time  London  is  the  gayest  and 
liveliest  city  in  the  world. 

And  then,  wholly  independent  of  the  weather,  there 
was  the  Great  Question. 

From  the  hour  when  the  first  'bus  rumbled  City- 
wards until  some  few  seconds  before  three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  the  mass  of  the  people  seemed  to 
find  delight  in  asking  and  answering  it.  The  Ques- 
tion was  ever  the  same;  but  the  answer  varied.  In 
its  way,  the  Question  formed  a  tribute  to  the  ad- 

1 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

vance  of  democracy.  It  caused  strangers  to  ex- 
change opinions  and  pleasantries  in  crowded  trains 
and  omnibuses.  It  placed  peers  and  commoners  on 
an  equality.  During  some  part  of  the  day  it  com- 
pletely eclipsed  all  other  topics  of  conversation. 

Thus,  young  Lord  Medenham  made  no  pretense 
of  shirking  it  while  he  stood  on  the  steps  of  his 
father's  mansion  in  Cavendish  Square  and  watched  his 
chauffeur  stowing  a  luncheon  basket  beneath  the  front 
seat  of  the  Mercury  38. 

"  You  know  a  bit  about  racing,  Tomkinson,"  he 
said,  smiling  at  the  elderly  butler  who  had  brought 
the  basket  out  of  the  house.  "  What's  going  to 
win?  " 

"  The  King's  horse,  my  lord,"  replied  Tomkinson, 
with  the  unctuous  conviction  of  a  prelate  laying  down 
a  dogma. 

"  Is  it  as  sure  as  all  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

"  Well,  I  hope  so.  You  are  on  a  sovereign — By 
gad,  you  really  are,  you  know." 

Tomkinson  was  far  too  keenly  alive  to  the  mon- 
etary side  of  the  transaction  to  pay  heed  to  the  quip. 
His  portly  figure  curved  in  a  superb  bow. 

"  Thank  you,  my  lord,"  said  he. 

"  Remind  me  this  evening  if  you  are  right.  I  shall 
not  forget  to  damn  you  if  you  are  wrong." 

Tomkinson  ignored  the  chance  of  error  and  its 
consequences. 

"  Your  lordship  will  be  home  for  dinner  ?  " 

2 


The  Hired  Car 

"  Yes,  I  have  no  other  engagement.  All  ready, 
Dale?  "  for  the  chauffeur  was  in  his  seat,  and  the 
engine  was  purring  with  the  placid  hum  of  a  machine 
in  perfect  tune. 

Tomkinson  moved  grandly  down  the  steps,  ushered 
Viscount  Medenham  into  the  car,  and  watched  its 
graceful  swoop  into  Holies  Street. 

"  Times  have  changed,"  said  he  to  himself. 
"  Twenty  years  ago,  when  I  first  came  here,  his  lord- 
ship's father  would  have  given  me  a  tip,  and  he 
wouldn't  have  been  coming  home  for  dinne.r,  neether." 

By  that  last  fatal  word  Tomkinson  betrayed  the 
cloven  hoof.  At  least,  he  was  no  prelate — and  his 
assumption  of  the  prophetic  role  would  soon  be  put 
to  the  test.  But  he  had  answered  the  Great  Question. 

The  Mercury  crossed  Oxford  Street  and  insinuated 
itself  into  the  aristocratic  narrowness  of  Mayfair. 
It  stopped  in  Curzon  Street,  opposite  a  house  gay 
with  flowers  in  window-boxes.  The  Viscount  looked 
at  his  watch. 

"  How  far  to  Epsom  ?  "  he  asked  over  Dale's  shoul- 
der. 

"  About  sixteen  miles  by  the  direct  road,  my  lord, 
but  it  will  be  best  to  go  round  by  Kingston  and  avoid 
the  worst  of  the  traffic.  We  ought  to  allow  an  hour 
for  the  run." 

"An  hour!" 

"  We  are  not  in  France  now,  my  lord.  The  police 
here  would  have  spasms  if  they  saw  the  car  extended." 

Lord  Medenham  sighed. 

3 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

"  We  must  reason  with  them,"  he  said.  "  But  not 
to-day.  Lady  St.  Maur  declares  she  is  nervous.  Of 
course,  she  doesn't  know  our  Mercury.  After  to- 
day's experience  it  will  be  quite  another  matter  when 
I  take  her  to  Brighton  for  lunch  on  Sunday." 

Dale  said  nothing.  He  had  met  his  employer  at 
Marseilles  in  October,  when  Lord  Medenham  landed 
from  Africa ;  during  the  preceding  twelve  months  his 
license  had  been  indorsed  three  times  for  exceeding 
the  speed  limit  on  the  Brighton  Road,  and  he  had 
paid  £40  in  fines  and  costs  to  various  petty  sessional 
courts  in  Surrey  and  Sussex.  Sunday,  therefore, 
promised  developments. 

Medenham  seemed  to  think  that  his  aunt,  Lady 
St.  Maur,  would  be  waiting  for  him  on  the  doorstep. 
As  no  matronly  figure  materialized  in  that  locality, 
he  alighted,  and  obeyed  a  brass-lettered  injunction  to 
"  knock  and  ring."  Then  he  disappeared  inside  the 
house,  and  remained  there  so  long  that  Dale's  respect 
for  the  law  began  to  weaken.  The  chauffeur  had 
been  given  a  racing  certainty  for  the  first  race;  the 
hour  was  nearing  twelve,  and  every  road  leading  to 
Epsom  Downs  would  surely  be  congested. 

His  lordship  came  out,  alone,  and  it  was  clear 
that  the  unexpected  had  happened. 

"  Nice  thing !  "  he  said,  with  the  closest  semblance 
to  a  growl  that  his  good-natured  drawl  was  capable 
of.  "  The  whole  show  is  busted,  Dale.  Her  lady- 
ship is  in  bed  with  her  annual  bilious  attack — comes 
of  eating  forced  strawberries,  she  says.  And  she 

4 


The  Hired  Car 

adores  strawberries.    So  do  I.    There's  pounds  of  'em 
in  that  luncheon  basket.     Who's  going  to  eat  'em?  " 

Dale  foresaw  no  difficulties  in  that  respect,  but 
he  did  realize  at  once  that  his  master  cared  little 
about  racing,  and,  so  far  as  Epsom  was  concerned, 
would  abandon  the  day's  excursion  without  a  pang. 
He  grew  desperate.  But,  being  something  of  a  stoic, 
he  kept  his  feelings  in  check,  and  played  a  card 
that  could  hardly  fail. 

"  You  will  find  plenty  of  youngsters  on  the  hill 
who  will  be  glad  of  them,  my  lord,"  said  he. 

"  You  don't  tell  me  so !  Kiddies  at  the  Derby ! 
Well,  why  not?  It  shows  what  a  stranger  I  am  in 
my  own  land  that  I  should  never  have  seen  the 
blessed  race.  Right  ahead  then,  Dale ;  we  must  back 
the  King's  horse  and  arrange  a  school  treat.  But 
I'll  take  the  wheel.  Can  you  tuck  your  legs  over 
that  basket?  I'm  not  going  to  sit  alone  in  the  ton- 
neau.  And,  who  knows? — we  may  pick  up  someone 
on  the  road." 

Starting  on  the  switch,  the  car  sprang  off  towards 
Piccadilly.  Dale  sighed  in  his  relief.  With  ordinary 
luck,  they  ought  to  reach  Epsom  before  one  o'clock, 
and  racing  did  not  begin  till  half  an  hour  later.  He 
left  wholly  out  of  reckoning  the  mysterious  element 
in  human  affairs  that  allots  adventures  to  the  ad- 
venturous, though  close  association  with  Viscount 
Medenham  during  the  past  nine  months  ought  to  have 
taught  him  the  wisdom  of  caution.  Several  chapters 
of  a  very  interesting  book  might  be  supplied  by  his 

5 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

lordship's  motoring  experiences  on  the  Continent, 
and  these  would  only  supplement  the  still  more 
checkered  biography  of  one  who,  at  the  close  of 
the  Boer  War,  elected  to  shoot  his  way  home  through 
the  Mid-African  haunts  of  big  game  rather  than 
return  by  orthodox  troopship.  On  the  face  of 
things,  it  was  absurd  to  imagine  that  a  self-confessed 
wanderer  should  be  permitted  to  see  his  first  Derby 
in  the  sacrosanct  company  of  a  stout  aunt  and  a 
well-filled  luncheon  basket.  Even  Medenham's  re- 
cording angel  must  have  smiled  at  the  conceit,  though 
doubtless  shaking  a  grave  head  when  the  announce- 
ment of  the  Dowager's  indisposition  revealed  the  first 
twist  from  the  path  of  good  intent.  As  for  Lady 
St.  Maur,  she  declared  long  afterwards  that  the  whole 
amazing  entanglement  could  be  traced  distinctly  to 
her  fondness  for  the  ducal  fruit  raised  under  glass. 
A  cherry-stone  lodged  in  the  vermiform  appendix  of 
an  emperor  has  more  than  once  played  strange 
pranks  with  the  map  of  Europe,  so  it  is  not  surpris- 
ing that  a  strawberry,  subtly  bestowed  in  a  place 
well  adapted  to  the  exercise  of  its  fell  skill,  should 
be  able  to  convulse  a  section  of  the  British  peerage. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  the  hap  that  put  Medenham  in 
control  of  his  Mercury  unquestionably  led  to  the  next 
turn  in  events.  A  man  driving  a  high-powered  car 
watches  the  incidents  of  the  road  more  closely  than 
the  same  individual  lounging  at  ease  in  the  back  seat. 
Hence,  his  lordship's  attention  was  caught  instantly 
l/y  a  touring  car  drawn  up  close  to  the  curb  in  Down 

6 


The  Hired  Car 

Street.  That  short  thoroughfare  forms,  as  it  were, 
a  backwash  for  the  traffic  of  Piccadilly.  At  the  mo- 
ment it  held  no  other  vehicle  than  the  two  auto- 
mobiles, and  it  required  no  second  look  at  the  face 
of  the  driver  of  the  motionless  car  to  discover  that 
something  was  seriously  amiss.  Anger  and  despair 
struggled  there  for  predominance.  Richard  the 
Third  of  England  must  have  given  just  such  a 
glance  at  his  last  horse  foundered  on  Bosworth 
Field. 

Medenham  never  passed  another  motorist  in  trouble 
without  stopping. 

"  Anything  the  matter?  "  he  asked,  when  the  Mer- 
cury was  halted  with  the  ease  of  a  trained  athlete 
poised  in  suspended  motion. 

"Everything!" 

The  chauffeur  snapped  out  the  word  without  turn- 
ing. He  was  a  man  devoid  of  faith,  or  hope,  or 
charity. 

"Can  I  help?" 

"  Can  you  h — 1!  "  came  the  surly  response. 

Thereupon,  many  viscounts  would  have  swept  on 
into  Piccadilly  without  further  parley — not  so  Me- 
denham. He  scrutinized  the  soldierly  figure,  the 
half-averted  face. 

"  You  must  be  hard  hit,  Simmonds,  before  you 
would  answer  me  in  that  fashion,"  said  he  quietly. 

Simmonds  positively  jumped  when  he  heard  his 
name.  He  wheeled  round,  raised  his  cap,  and  broke 
into  stuttering  excuse. 

7 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

"  I  beg  your  lordship's  pardon — I  hadn't  the  least 
notion " 

These  two  had  not  met  since  they  discussed  Boer 
trenches  and  British  generals  during  a  momentary 
halt  on  the  Tugela  slope  of  Spion  Kop.  Medenham 
remembered  the  fact,  and  forgave  a  good  deal  on 
account  of  it. 

"  I  have  seen  you  look  far  less  worried  under  a 
plunging  fire  from  a  pom-pom,"  he  said  cheerily. 
"  Now,  what  is  it?  Wires  out  of  order?  " 

"  No,  my  lord.  That  wouldn't  bother  me  very 
long.  It's  a  regular  smash  this  time — transmission 
shaft  snapped." 

"Why?" 

"  I  was  run  into  by  a  railway  van,  and  forced 
against  a  street  refuge." 

"  Well,  if  it  was  not  your  fault " 

"  Oh,  I  can  claim  damages  right  enough.  I  have 
plenty  of  witnesses.  Even  the  driver  of  the  van 
could  only  say  that  one  of  his  horses  slipped.  It's 
the  delay  I'm  jibbing  at.  I  hate  to  disappoint  my 
customers,  and  this  accident  may  cost  me  three  hun- 
dred pounds,  and  a  business  of  my  own  into  the 
bargain." 

"By  gad!  That  sounds  rather  stiff.  What's 
the  hurry  ?  " 

"  This  is  my  own  car,  my  lord.  Early  in  the 
spring  I  was  lucky  enough  to  fall  in  with  a  rich 
American.  I  was  driving  for  a  company  then,  but 
he  offered  me  three  hundred  pounds,  money  down, 

8 


The  Hired  Car 

for  a  three  months'  contract.  Straightaway  I 
bought  this  car  for  five  hundred,  and  it  is  half  paid 
for.  Now  the  same  gentleman  writes  from  Paris 
that  I  am  to  take  his  daughter  and  another  lady  on 
a  thousand  miles'  run  for  ten  days,  and  he  says 
he  is  prepared  to  hire  me  and  the  car  for  the  balance 
of  another  period  of  three  months  on  the  same  terms." 

"  But  the  ladies  will  be  reasonable  when  you  ex- 
plain matters." 

"  Ladies  are  never  reasonable,  my  lord — especially 
young  ones.  I  have  met  Miss  Vanrenen  only  once, 
but  she  struck  me  as  one  who  was  very  much  ac- 
customed to  having  her  own  way.  And  she  has 
planned  this  tour  to  the  last  minute.  Any  other 
day  I  might  have  hired  a  car,  and  picked  up  my 
own  somewhere  on  the  road,  but  on  Derby  Day  and 
in  fine  weather " 

Simmonds  spread  wide  his  hands  in  sheer  inability 
to  find  words  that  would  express  the  hopelessness  of 
retrieving  his  shattered  fortunes.  Dale  was  fidget- 
ing, fingering  taps  and  screws  unnecessarily,  but 
Medenham  was  pondering  his  former  trooper's  plight. 
He  refused  to  admit  that  the  position  was  quite  so 
bad  as  it  was  painted. 

"  Oh,  come  now,"  said  he,  "  I'll  give  you  a  tow  to 
the  nearest  repair  shop,  and  a  word  from  me  will 
expedite  the  business.  Meanwhile,  you  must  jump 
into  a  hansom  and  appeal  to  the  sympathies  of  Miss 
— Vanrenen,  is  it  ?  " 

"  No  use,  my  lord,"  was  the  stubborn  answer.     "  I 

9 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

rected.  Here  were  two  cars,  but  the  boy  did  not 
hesitate.  He  saluted. 

"  Messenger,  sir,"  he  said. 

"  This  way,"  intervened  Simmonds  curtly. 

"  No.  I  want  you,"  said  Medenham.  "  You 
know  Sevastopol's,  the  cigarette  shop  in  Bond 
Street?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Take  this  card  there,  and  ask  him  to  dispatch 
the  order  at  once."  Meanwhile  he  was  writing: 
"  Kindly  send  1,000  Salonikas  to  91  Cavendish 
Square." 

Simmonds  looked  anxious.  He  was  not  a  smooth- 
spoken fellow,  but  he  did  not  wish  to  offend  Lord 
Medenham. 

"  Would  your  lordship  mind  if  I  sent  the  boy  to 
the  Savoy  Hotel  first?  "  he  asked  nervously.  "  It 
is  rather  late,  and  Miss  Vanrenen  will  be  expecting 
me." 

"  What  time  are  you  due  at  the  Savoy  ?  " 

"  We  were  to  start  at  twelve  o'clock,  but  the  ladies' 
luggage  had  to  be  strapped  on,  and " 

"  Ah,  the  deuce !      That  sounds  formidable." 

"  Of  course  they  must  stow  everything  into  the 
canvas  trunks  I  supplied,  my  lord." 

Medenham  stooped  and  examined  the  screws  which 
fastened  an  iron  grid  at  the  back  of  the  broken-down 
vehicle. 

"  Whip  open  the  tool  box,  Dale,  and  transfer  that 
arrangement  to  my  car,"  he  said  briskly.  "  Make  it 

12 


The  Hired  Car 

fit  somehow.  I  don't  approve  of  damaged  paint- 
work, nor  of  weight  behind  the  driving-wheels  for 
that  matter,  but  time  presses,  and  the  ladies  might 
shy  at  a  request  to  repack  their  belongings  into  my 
kit-bags,  even  if  I  were  carrying  them.  Now,  Sim- 
monds,  give  me  the  route,  if  you  know  it,  and  hand 
over  your  road  maps.  I  mean  to  take  your  place 
until  your  car  is  put  right.  Wire  me  where  to  ex- 
pect you.  You  ought  to  be  ship-shape  in  three  days, 
at  the  utmost." 

"  My  lord "  began  the  overwhelmed  Simmonds. 

"  I'll  see  you  hanged  as  high  as  Haman  before  I 
hand  over  my  Mercury  to  you,  if  that  is  what  you 
are  thinking  of,"  said  Medenham  sharply.  "  Why, 
man,  she  is  built  like  a  watch.  It  would  take  you 
a  month  to  understand  her.  Now,  you  boy,  be  off 
to  Sevastopolo's.  Where  can  I  buy  a  chauffeur's 
kit,  Simmonds  ?  " 

"  Your  lordship  is  really  too  kind.  I  couldn't 
think  of  permitting  it,"  muttered  Simmonds. 

"  What,  then — do  you  refuse  my  assistance  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  that,  my  lord.  I  am  awfully  grate- 
ful  " 

"  Are  you  afraid  that  I  shall  run  off  with  Miss 
Vanrenen — hold  her  to  ransom — send  Black  Hand 
letters  to  her  father,  and  that  sort  of  thing?  " 

"  From  what  little  I  have  seen  of  Miss  Vanrenen 
she  is  much  more  likely  to  run  off  with  you,  my  lord. 
But " 

"  You're    growing    incoherent,    Simmonds.       For 

13 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

goodness'  sake  tell  me  where  I  am  to  go.  You  can 
safely  leave  all  the  rest  to  me,  and  we  haven't  a 
minute  to  lose  if  I  am  to  secure  any  sort  of  a  decent 
motoring  kit  before  I  turn  up  at  the  hotel.  Pull 
yourself  together,  man.  Action  front  and  fire ! 
Guns  unlimbered  and  first  range-finder  dispatched  in 
nineteen  seconds — eh,  what?  " 

Simmonds  squared  his  shoulders.  He  had  been 
a  driver  in  the  Royal  Artillery  before  he  joined  Vis- 
count Medenham's  troop  of  Imperial  Yeomanry. 
There  was  no  further  argument.  Dale,  Oriental  in 
phlegm  now  that  Eyot  was  safely  backed,  was  al- 
ready unscrewing  the  luggage  carrier. 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  Mercury  curled  with  sinu- 
ous grace  out  of  the  busy  Strand  into  the  court- 
yard of  the  Savoy  Hotel.  The  inclosure  snorted 
with  motors,-  the  air  was  petrolise,  all  the  world 
of  the  hotel  was  going,  or  had  already  gone,  to 
Epsom. 

One  quick  glance  at  the  lines  of  traffic  showed 
Medenham  that  the  Swiss  Rear-Admiral  on  duty 
would  not  allow  him  to  remain  an  unnecessary  instant 
in  front  of  the  actual  doorway.  He  swung  his  car 
to  the  exit  side,  crept  in  behind  a  departing  taxicab, 
and  grabbed  a  hurrying  boy  in  buttons. 

"  You  listen  to  me,  boy,"  he  said. 

The  boy  remarked  that  his  hearing  was  perfect. 

"  Well,  go  to  Miss  Vanrenen  and  say  that  her 
motor  is  waiting.  Seize  a  porter,  and  do  not  leave 
him  until  he  has  brought  two  canvas  trunks  from  the 

14 


The  Hired  Car 

lady's  rooms.  Help  him  to  strap  them  on  the  grid, 
and  I'll  give  each  of  you  half-a-crown." 

The  boy  vanished.  Never  before  had  chauffeur 
addressed  him  so  convincingly. 

Medenham,  standing  by  the  side  of  the  car,  was 
deep  in  the  contours  of  a  road  map  of  Sussex  when 
a  sweet  if  somewhat  petulant  voice,  apparently  at 
his  elbow,  complained  that  its  owner  could  not  see 
Simmonds  anywhere.  He  turned  instantly.  A 
slim,  straight-figured  girl,  wearing  a  dust-cloak  and 
motor  veil,  had  come  out  from  the  Savoy  Court  door- 
way and  was  scrutinizing  every  automobile  in  sight. 
Near  her  was  a  short,  stout  woman  whose  personality 
seemed  to  be  strangely  familiar  to  Medenham.  He 
never  forgot  anyone,  and  this  lady  was  certainly  not 
one  of  his  acquaintances;  nevertheless,  her  features, 
her  robin-like  strut,  her  very  amplitude  of  girth  and 
singular  rotundity  of  form,  came  definitely  within  the 
net  of  his  retentive  memory. 

To  be  sure,  he  gave  her  but  brief  survey,  since  her 
companion,  in  all  likelihood  Miss  Vanrenen,  might 
quite  reasonably  attract  his  attention.  Indeed,  she 
would  find  favor  in  the  eyes  of  any  young  man,  let 
alone  one  who  had  such  cause  as  Viscount  Medenham 
to  be  interested  in  her  appearance.  In  her  amaz- 
ingly lovely  face  the  haughty  beauty  of  an  aristocrat 
was  softened  by  a  touch  of  that  piquant  femininity 
which  the  well-bred  American  girl  seems  to  bring 
from  Paris  with  her  clothes.  A  mass  of  dark  brown 
hair  framed  a  forehead,  nose,  and  mouth  of  almost 

15 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

goodness'  sake  tell  me  where  I  am  to  go.  You  can 
safely  leave  all  the  rest  to  me,  and  we  haven't  a 
minute  to  lose  if  I  am  to  secure  any  sort  of  a  decent 
motoring  kit  before  I  turn  up  at  the  hotel.  Pull 
yourself  together,  man.  Action  front  and  fire ! 
Guns  unlimbered  and  first  range-finder  dispatched  in 
nineteen  seconds — eh,  what?  " 

Simmonds  squared  his  shoulders.  He  had  been 
a  driver  in  the  Royal  Artillery  before  he  joined  Vis- 
count Medenham's  troop  of  Imperial  Yeomanry. 
There  was  no  further  argument.  Dale,  Oriental  in 
phlegm  now  that  Eyot  was  safely  backed,  was  al- 
ready unscrewing  the  luggage  carrier. 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  Mercury  curled  with  sinu- 
ous grace  out  of  the  busy  Strand  into  the  court- 
yard of  the  Savoy  Hotel.  The  inclosure  snorted 
with  motors,-  the  air  was  petrolise,  all  the  world 
of  the  hotel  was  going,  or  had  already  gone,  to 
Epsom. 

One  quick  glance  at  the  lines  of  traffic  showed 
Medenham  that  the  Swiss  Rear-Admiral  on  duty 
would  not  allow  him  to  remain  an  unnecessary  instant 
in  front  of  the  actual  doorway.  He  swung  his  car 
to  the  exit  side,  crept  in  behind  a  departing  taxicab, 
and  grabbed  a  hurrying  boy  in  buttons. 

"  You  listen  to  me,  boy,"  he  said. 

The  boy  remarked  that  his  hearing  was  perfect. 

"  Well,  go  to  Miss  Vanrenen  and  say  that  her 
motor  is  waiting.  Seize  a  porter,  and  do  not  leave 
him  until  he  has  brought  two  canvas  trunks  from  the 

14 


The  Hired  Car 

lady's  rooms.  Help  him  to  strap  them  on  the  grid, 
and  I'll  give  each  of  you  half-a-crown." 

The  boy  vanished.  Never  before  had  chauffeur 
addressed  him  so  convincingly. 

Medenham,  standing  by  the  side  of  the  car,  was 
deep  in  the  contours  of  a  road  map  of  Sussex  when 
a  sweet  if  somewhat  petulant  voice,  apparently  at 
his  elbow,  complained  that  its  owner  could  not  see 
Simmonds  anywhere.  He  turned  instantly.  A 
slim,  straight-figured  girl,  wearing  a  dust-cloak  and 
motor  veil,  had  come  out  from  the  Savoy  Court  door- 
way and  was  scrutinizing  every  automobile  in  sight. 
Near  her  was  a  short,  stout  woman  whose  personality 
seemed  to  be  strangely  familiar  to  Medenham.  He 
never  forgot  anyone,  and  this  lady  was  certainly  not 
one  of  his  acquaintances;  nevertheless,  her  features, 
her  robin-like  strut,  her  very  amplitude  of  girth  and 
singular  rotundity  of  form,  came  definitely  within  the 
net  of  his  retentive  memory. 

To  be  sure,  he  gave  her  but  brief  survey,  since  her 
companion,  in  all  likelihood  Miss  Vanrenen,  might 
quite  reasonably  attract  his  attention.  Indeed,  she 
would  find  favor  in  the  eyes  of  any  young  man,  let 
alone  one  who  had  such  cause  as  Viscount  Medenham 
to  be  interested  in  her  appearance.  In  her  amaz- 
ingly lovely  face  the  haughty  beauty  of  an  aristocrat 
was  softened  by  a  touch  of  that  piquant  femininity 
which  the  well-bred  American  girl  seems  to  bring 
from  Paris  with  her  clothes.  A  mass  of  dark  brown 
hair  framed  a  forehead,  nose,  and  mouth  of  almost 

15 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

Grecian  regularity,  while  her  firmly  modeled  chin, 
slightly  more  pronounced  in  type,  would  hint  at  un- 
usual strength  of  character  were  not  the  impression 
instantly  dispelled  by  the  changing  lights  in  a  pair 
of  marvelously  blue  eyes.  In  the  course  of  a  single 
second  Medenham  found  himself  comparing  them  to 
blue  diamonds,  to  the  azure  depths  of  a  sunlit  sea, 
to  the  exquisite  tint  of  the  myosotis.  Then  he  swal- 
lowed his  surprise,  and  lifted  his  cap. 

"  May  I  ask  if  you  are  Miss  Vanrenen?  "  he  said. 
The  blue  eyes  met  his.      For  the  first  time  in  his 
life  he  was  thrilled  to  the  core  by  a  woman's  glance. 
"  Yes." 

She  answered  with  a  smile,  an  approving  smile, 
perhaps,  for  the  viscount  looked  very  smart  in  his 
tight-fitting  uniform,  but  none  the  less  wondering. 

"  Then  I  am  here  instead  of  Simmonds.  His  car 
was  put  out  of  commission  an  hour  ago  by  a  brutal 
railway  van,  and  will  not  be  ready  for  the  road  dur- 
ing the  next  day  or  two.  May  I  offer  my  services 
in  the  meantime?  " 

The  girl's  astonished  gaze  traveled  from  Medenham 
to  the  spick  and  span  automobile.  For  the  moment 
he  had  forgotten  his  role,  and  each  word  he  uttered 
deepened  her  bewilderment,  which  grew  stronger  when 
she  looked  at  the  Mercury.  The  sleek  coach-work 
and  spotless  leather  upholstery,  the  shining  brass 
fittings  and  glistening  wings,  every  visible  detail  in 
fact,  gave  good  promise  of  the  excellence  of  the  en- 
gine stowed  away  beneath  the  square  bonnet.  Evi- 

16 


The  Hired  Car 

dently  Miss  Vanrenen  had  cultivated  the  habit  of 
gathering  information  rapidly. 

"  This  car?  "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  delightful  lift- 
ing of  arched  eyebrows. 

"  Yes,  you  will  not  be  disappointed  in  it,  I  assure 
you.  I  am  doing  Simmonds  a  friendly  turn  in  taking 
his  place,  so  I  hope  the  slight  accident  will  not  make 
any  difference  to  your  plans." 

"  But — why  has  not  Simmonds  himself  come  to 
explain  matters  ?  " 

"  He  could  not  leave  his  car,  which  is  in  a  side 
street  off  Piccadilly.  He  would  have  sent  a  note, 
but  he  remembered  that  you  had  never  seen  his  hand- 
writing, so,  as  a  proof  of  my  genuineness,  he  gave 
me  your  itinerary." 

Medenham  produced  a  closely-written  sheet  of 
note-paper,  which  Miss  Vanrenen  presumably  recog- 
nized. She  turned  to  her  stout  companion,  who  had 
been  summing  up  car  and  chauffeur  with  careful  eyes 
since  Medenham  first  spoke. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Mrs.  Devar?  "  she  said. 

When  he  heard  the  name,  Medenham  was  so  amazed 
that  the  last  vestige  of  chauffeurism  vanished  from 
his  manner. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  Jimmy  Devar's 
mother?  "  he  gasped. 

Mrs.  Devar  positively  jumped.  If  a  look  could 
have  slain  he  would  have  fallen  then  and  there.  As 
it  was,  she  tried  to  freeze  him  to  death. 

"  Do  I  understand  that  you  are  speaking  of  Cap- 

17 


Cynthia 's  Chauffeur 

tain  Devar,  of  Horton's  Horse?  "  she  said,  aloof  as 
an  iceberg. 

"  Yes,"  said  he  coolly,  though  regretting  the  lapse. 
He  had  stupidly  brought  about  an  awkward  incident, 
and  must  remember  in  future  not  to  address  either 
lady  as  an  equal. 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  my  son  was  on  familiar 
terms  with  the  chauffeur  fraternity." 

"  Sorry,  but  the  name  slipped  out  unawares.  Cap- 
tain Devar  is,  or  used  to  be,  very  easy-going  in  his 
ways,  you  know." 

"  So  it  would  seem."  She  turned  her  back  on 
him  disdainfully.  "  In  the  circumstances,  Cynthia," 
she  said,  "  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  we  ought  to 
make  further  inquiries  before  we  exchange  cars,  and 
drivers,  in  this  fashion." 

"  But  what  is  to  be  done  ?  All  our  arrangements 
are  made — our  rooms  ordered — I  have  even  sent 
father  each  day's  address.  If  we  cancel  everything 
by  telegraph  he  will  be  alarmed." 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  mean  that,"  protested  the  lady 
hurriedly.  It  was  evident  that  she  hardly  knew  what 
to  say.  Medenham's  wholly  unexpected  query  had 
unnerved  her. 

"  Is  there  any  alternative  ?  "  demanded  Cynthia 
ruefully,  glancing  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  It  is  rather  late  to  hire  another  car  to-day,  I 
admit "  began  Mrs.  Devar. 

"  It  would  be  quite  impossible,  madam,"  put  in 
Medenham.  "  This  is  Derby  Day,  and  there  is  not 

18 


The  Hired  Car 

a  motor  to  be  obtained  in  London  except  a  taxicab. 
It  was  sheer  good  luck  for  Simmonds  that  he  was 
able  to  secure  me  as  his  deputy." 

He  thanked  his  stars  for  that  word  "  madam." 
Certainly  the  mere  sound  of  it  seemed  to  soothe  Mrs. 
Devar's  jarred  nerves,  and  the  appearance  of  the 
Mercury  was  even  more  reassuring. 

"  Ah,  well,"  she  said,  "  we  are  not  traveling  into 
the  wilds.  If  desirable,  we  can  always  return  to 
town  by  train.  By  the  way,  chauffeur,  what  is  your 
name?  " 

For  an  instant  Medenham  hesitated.  Then  he  took 
the  plunge,  strong  in  the  belief  that  a  half-forgotten 
transaction  between  himself  and  "  Jimmy "  Devar 
would  prevent  that  impecunious  warrior  from  dis- 
cussing him  freely  in  the  family  circle. 

"  George  Augustus  Fitzroy,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Devar's  brows  knitted;  she  was  regaining  her 
self-possession,  and  a  sarcastic  smile  now  chased  away 
a  perplexing  thought.  She  was  about  to  say  some- 
thing when  Cynthia  Vanrenen  broke  in  excitedly : 

"  I  declare  to  goodness  if  the  hotel  people  have  not 
fastened  on  our  boxes  already.  They  seem  to  know 
our  minds  better  than  we  do  ourselves.  And  here 
is  the  man  with  the  wraps.  .  .  .  Please  be  careful 
with  that  camera.  .  .  .  Yes,  put  it  there,  with  the 
glasses.  What  are  you  doing,  Fitzroy  ?  "  for  Meden- 
ham was  discharging  his  obligations  to  the  boy  in 
buttons  and  a  porter. 

"  Paying  my  debts,"  said  he,  smiling  at  her. 

19 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

"  Of  course  you  realize  that  I  pay  all  expenses  ?  " 
she  said,  with  just  the  requisite  note  of  hauteur  in 
her  voice  that  the  situation  called  for. 

"  This  is  entirely  a  personal  matter,  I  assure  you, 
Miss  Vanrenen." 

Medenham  could  not  help  smiling ;  he  stooped  and 
felt  a  tire  unnecessarily.  Cynthia  was  puzzled.  She 
wrote  that  evening  to  Irma  Norris,  her  cousin  in 
Philadelphia — "  Fitzroy  is  a  new  line  in  chauffeurs." 

"  By  the  way,  where  is  your  trunk?  "  she  demanded 
suddenly. 

"  I  came  away  unexpectedly,  so  I  have  arranged 
that  it  shall  be  sent  to  Brighton  by  rail,"  he  ex- 
plained. 

Apparently,  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  said. 
The  two  ladies  seated  themselves,  and  the  car  sped 
out  into  the  Strand.  They  watched  the  driver's 
adroit  yet  scrupulously  careful  dealing  with  the  traf- 
fic, and  Cynthia,  at  least,  quickly  grasped  the  essen- 
tial fact  that  the  six  cylinders  worked  with  a  silent 
power  that  held  cheap  every  other  vehicle  passed  or 
overtaken  on  the  road. 

"  It  is  a  lovely  automobile,"  she  murmured  with  a 
little  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

"  Quite  an  up-to-date  car,  I  fancy,"  agreed  her 
friend. 

"  I  don't  understand  how  this  man,  Fitzroy,  can 
afford  to  use  it  for  hiring  purposes.  Yet,  that  is  his 
affair — not  mine.  I  rather  like  him.  Don't  you  ?  " 

"  His  manners  are  somewhat  off-hand,  but  such 

20 


The  Hired  Car 

persons  are  given  to  aping  their  superiors.  George 
Augustus  Fitzroy,  too — it  is  ridiculous.  Fitzroy  is 
the  family  name  of  the  Earls  of  Fairholme,  and  their 
eldest  sons  have  been  christened  George  Augustus 
ever  since  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century." 

"  The  name  seems  to  fit  our  chauffeur  all  right, 
and  I  guess  he  has  as  good  a  claim  to  it  as  any  other 
man." 

Cynthia  was  apt  to  flaunt  the  Stars  and  Stripes 
when  Mrs.  Devar  aired  her  class  conventions,  and 
the  older  woman  had  the  tact  to  agree  with  a  care- 
less nod.  Nevertheless,  had  Cynthia  Vanrenen  known 
how  strictly  accurate  was  her  comment  she  would 
have  been  the  most  astounded  girl  in  London  at  that 
minute.  The  Viscountcy,  of  course,  was  nothing 
more  than  a  courtesy  title;  in  the  cold  eye  of  the 
law,  Medenham's  full  legal  name  was  that  which  Mrs. 
Devar  deemed  ridiculous.  As  events  shaped  them- 
selves, it  was  of  the  utmost  importance  to  Cynthia, 
and  to  Medenham,  and  to  several  other  persons  who 
had  not  yet  risen  above  their  common  horizon,  that 
Mrs.  Devar's  sneer  should  pass  unchallenged. 
Though  that  lady  herself  was  not  fashioned  of  the 
softer  human  clay  which  expresses  its  strenuous  emo- 
tions by  fainting  fits  or  hysteria,  some  such  feminine 
expedient  would  certainly  have  prevented  her  from 
going  another  hundred  yards  along  the  south  road 
had  some  wizard  told  her  how  nearly  she  had  guessed 
the  truth. 

But  the  luck  of  the  born  adventurer  saved  Meden- 

21 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

ham  from  premature  exposure.  "  I  dare  all "  was 
the  motto  of  his  house,  and  it  was  fated  to  be  tested 
in  full  measure  ere  he  saw  London  again.  Of  these 
considerations  the  purring  Mercury  neither  knew  nor 
cared.  She  sang  the  song  of  the  free  highway,  and 
sped  through  the  leafy  lanes  of  Surrey  with  a  fine 
disregard  for  Acts  of  Parliament  and  the  "  rules  and 
regulations  therein  made  and  provided."  Soon  after 
one  o'clock,  however,  she  was  compelled  to  climb  the 
road  to  the  downs  in  meek  agreement  with  two  lines 
of  toiling  chars-a-bancs  and  laboring  motors.  Just 
to  show  her  mettle  when  the  opportunity  offered,  she 
took  the  steep  hill  opposite  the  stands  with  a  grey- 
hound rush  that  vastly  disconcerted  a  policeman  who 
told  Medenham  to  "  hurry  up  out  of  the  dip." 

Then,  having  found  a  clear  space,  she  dozed  for 
a  while,  and  Cynthia,  like  a  true-born  American, 
began  the  day's  business  by  giving  the  answer  before 
either  of  her  companions  even  thought  of  putting  the 
Great  Question. 

"  Grimalkin  will  win !  "  she  cried.  "  Mr.  Deane 
told  my  father  so.  I  want  to  play  Grimalkin  for 
ten  dollars!" 


THE  FIRST  DAY'S  RUN 

THOUGH  Medenham  was  no  turf  devotee,  he  formed 
distinctly  unfavorable  conclusions  as  to  the  financial 
stability  of  the  bawling  bookmakers  near  at  hand. 

"  If  you  wish  to  do  any  betting,  Miss  Vanrenen," 
he  said,  "  give  me  the  money  and  I  will  invest  it  for 
you.  There  is  no  hurry.  The  Derby  will  not  be 
run  till  three  o'clock.  We  have  an  hour  and  a  half 
in  which  to  study  form." 

For  the  life  of  him  he  could  not  imitate  the  com- 
plete annihilation  of  self  practiced  by  the  well-bred 
English  servant.  The  American  girl  missed  the  ab- 
sence of  this  trait  far  less  than  the  other  woman, 
but,  by  this  time,  even  Mrs.  Devar  began  to  accept 
Medenham's  good-humored  assumption  of  equality  as 
part  of  the  day's  amusement. 

Cynthia  handed  him  a  card.  She  had  bought 
three  while  they  were  crawling  up  the  hill  behind  a 
break-load  of  jeering  Cockneys. 

"  What  will  win  the  first  race  ? "  she  asked. 
"  Father  says  you  men  often  hear  more  than  the 
owners  about  the  real  performances  of  horses." 

23 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

Medenham  tried  to  look  knowing.  He  thanked 
his  stars  for  Dale's  information. 

"  I  am  told  Eyot  has  a  chance,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  put  me  a  sovereign  on  Eyot,  please.  Are 
you  playing  the  ponies,  Mrs.  Devar?  " 

That  lady,  being  quick-witted,  took  care  not  to 
offend  Cynthia  by  pretending  not  to  understand, 
though  it  set  Medenham's  teeth  on  edge  to  hear  a 
racehorse  called  a  pony.  She  opened  a  gold  purse 
and  produced  a  coin. 

"  I  don't  mind  risking  a  little,"  she  tittered. 

Medenham  found,  however,  that  she  also  had 
handed  him  a  sovereign,  and  his  conscience  smote  him, 
for  he  guessed  already,  with  accuracy  as  it  hap- 
pened, that  she  was  Miss  Vanrenen's  paid  chaperon 
during  the  absence  of  the  girl's  father  on  the 
Continent. 

"  Personally,  I  am  a  duffer  in  matters  connected 
with  the  turf,"  he  explained.  "  A  friend  of  mine — 
a  chauffeur — mentioned  Eyot " 

"Oh,  that  is  all  right,"  laughed  Cynthia.  "I 
like  the  colors — Eau  de  Nil  and  white.  Look !  There 
he  goes !  " 

She  had  good  eyes,  as  well  as  pretty  ones,  else 
she  could  not  have  distinguished  the  silk  jacket  worn 
by  the  rider  of  a  horse  cantering  at  that  moment 
along  the  cleared  course.  Crowded  coaches,  four 
rows  deep,  lined  the  rails  near  the  judge's  box,  and 
the  gay-hued  parasols  of  their  feminine  occupants 
almost  completely  blocked  the  view,  a  distant  one  in 

24 


The  First  Day's  Run 

any  case,  owing  to  the  width  of  the  intervening 
valley. 

Medenham  raised  no  further  protest.  He  walked 
to  a  stand  where  a  press  of  people  betokened  the 
presence  of  a  popular  layer  of  odds,  found  that 
Eyot's  price  was  chalked  up  at  five  to  one,  and 
backed  him  for  four  pounds.  He  had  to  push  and 
elbow  his  way  through  a  struggling  crowd;  im- 
mediately after  the  bet  was  made,  Eyot's  quotation 
was  reduced  by  two  points  in  response  to  signals  tick- 
tacked  from  the  inclosures.  This,  of  course,  argued 
a  decided  following  for  Dale's  selection,  and  these 
eleventh  hour  movements  in  the  turf  market  are  il- 
luminative. Before  he  got  back  to  the  car  there 
was  a  mighty  shout  of  "  They're  off !  "  and  he  saw 
Cynthia  Vanrenen  stand  on  the  seat  to  watch  the 
race  through  her  glasses. 

Mrs.  Devar  stood  up,  too.  Both  women  were 
so  intent  on  the  troop  of  horses  now  streaming 
over  the  crest  of  the  six-furlong  course  that  he 
was  able  to  stare  his  fill  without  attracting  their 
attention. 

"  I  like  Cynthia,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  though  I 
shall  be  in  a  deuce  of  a  mess  if  I  meet  her  anywhere 
after  this  piece  of  masquerading.  Not  much  chance 
of  that,  I  expect,  seeing  that  Dad  and  I  go  to  Scot- 
land early  in  July.  But  what  a  bore  to  tumble  across 
Jimmy's  mater !  I  hope  it  is  not  a  case  of  *  like 
mother  like  son,'  because  Jimmy  is  the  limit." 

A  strange  roar,  gathering  force  and  volume  each 

25 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

instant,  rose  from  a  hundred  thousand  throats.  Soon 
the  shout  became  insistent,  and  Cynthia  Vanrenen 
yielded  to  its  magnetism. 

"  E}*ot  wins !  "  she  cried  delightedly.  "  Yes,  none 
of  them  can  catch  him  now.  Go  on,  jockey — don't 
look  round!  Oh,  if  I  were  your  master  I'd  give 
you  such  a  talking  to.  Ah-h-h!  We've  won,  Mrs. 
Devar — we've  won !  Just  think  of  it !  " 

"  How  much,  I  wonder?  "  Mrs.  Devar,  though 
excited,  had  the  calculating  habit. 

"  Five  pounds  each,"  said  Medenham,  who  had 
approached  unnoticed  during  the  tumuH. 

Cynthia's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  Five  pounds !  Why,  I  heard  some  betting  per- 
son over  there  offering  only  three  to  one." 

It  was  a  task  beyond  his  powers  to  curb  an  unruly 
tongue  in  the  presence  of  this  emancipated  school- 
girl. He  met  her  ebullient  mood  halfway. 

"  I  have  evidently  beaten  the  market — that  is,  if 
I  get  the  money.  Horrible  thought!  I  may  be 
welshed !  " 

He  strode  back  rapidly  to  the  bookmaker's  stand. 

"What  do  you  think  of  our  chauffeur  now?" 
cried  Cynthia  radiantly,  for  the  winning  of  those 
few  sovereigns  was  a  real  joy  to  her,  and  the  shadow 
of  the  welsher  had  no  terrors,  since  she  did  not  know 
what  Medenham  meant. 

"  He  improves  on  acquaintance,"  admitted  Mrs. 
Devar,  thawing  a  little  under  the  influence  of  a  suc- 
cessful tip. 

26 


The  First  Day's  Run 

He  soon  returned,  and  handed  them  six  sovereigns 
apiece. 

"  My  man  paid  up  like  a  Briton,"  he  said  cheer- 
fully. "  I  have  no  reliable  information  as  to  the 
next  race,  so  what  do  you  ladies  say  if  we  lunch 
quietly  before  we  attack  the  ring  for  the  Derby  ?  " 

There  was  an  awkward  pause.  The  air  of  Epsom 
Downs  is  stimulating,  especially  after  one  has  found 
the  winner  of  the  first  race. 

"  We  have  not  brought  anything  to  eat,"  admitted 
Cynthia  ruefully.  "  We  ordered  some  sandwiches 
before  leaving  the  hotel,  and  we  mean  to  stop  for 
tea  at  some  old-world  hotel  in  Reigate  which  Mrs. 
Devar  recommends." 

"  Unfortunately  I  was  not  hungry  at  sandwich 
time,"  sighed  Mrs.  Devar. 

"  If  it  comes  to  that,  neither  was  I,  whereas  I 
have  a  most  unromantic  appetite  now.  But  what 
can  do,  as  the  Babus  say  in  India.  I  am  rather 
inclined  to  doubt  the  quality  of  anything  we  can 
buy  here." 

Medenham's  face  lit  up. 

"  India !  "  he  cried.      "  Have  you  been  to  India  ?  " 

"  Yes,  have  you  ?  My  father  and  I  passed  last 
cold  weather  there." 

Warned  by  a  sudden  expansion  of  Mrs.  Devar's 
prominent  eyes,  he  gave  a  quick  turn  to  a  dangerous 
topic,  since  it  was  in  Calcutta  that  the  gallant  ex- 
captain  of  Horton's  Horse  had  "  borrowed "  fifty 
pounds  from  him.  Naturally,  the  lady  omitted  the 

27 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

tell-tale  prefix  to  her  son's  rank,  but  it  was  un- 
questionably true  that  the  British  army  had  dis- 
pensed with  his  services. 

"  I  was  only  thinking  that  acquaintance  with  the 
East,  Miss  Vanrenen,  would  prepare  you  for  the 
mysterious  workings  of  Kismet,"  said  Medenham 
lightly.  "  When  I  came  across  Simmonds  this  morn- 
ing I  was  bewailing  the  fact  that  my  respected  aunt 
had  fallen  ill  and  could  not  accompany  me  to-day. 
May  I  offer  you  the  luncheon  which  I  provided  for 
her?  " 

He  withdrew  the  wicker  basket  from  its  nook  be- 
neath the  front  seat;  before  his  astonished  guests 
could  utter  a  protest,  it  was  opened,  and  he  was 
deftly  unpacking  the  contents. 

"  But  that  is  your  luncheon,"  protested  Cynthia, 
finding  it  incumbent  on  her  to  say  something  by  way 
of  polite  refusal. 

"  And  his  aunt's,  my  dear." 

In  those  few  words  Mrs.  Devar  conveyed  skepti- 
cism as  to  the  aunt  and  ready  acceptance  of  the 
proffered  fare;  but  Medenham  paid  no  heed;  he  had 
discovered  that  the  napkins,  cutlery,  even  the  plates, 
bore  the  family  crest.  The  silver,  too,  was  of  a 
quality  that  could  not  fail  to  evoke  comment. 

"  Well,  here  goes ! "  he  growled  under  his  breath. 
"  If  I  come  a  purler  it  will  not  be  for  the  first  time 
where  women  are  concerned." 

He  laughed  as  he  produced  some  lobster  in  aspic 
and  a  chicken. 

28 


The  First  Day's  Bun 

"  It  is  j  oily  useful  to  have  as  a  friend  a  butler 
in  a  big  house,"  he  said.  "  I  didn't  know  what 
Tomkinson  had  given  me,  but  these  confections  look 
all  right." 

Mrs.  Devar's  glance  dwelt  on  the  crest  the  instant 
she  took  a  plate.  She  smiled  in  her  superior  way. 
While  Medenham  was  wrestling  with  the  cork  of  a 
bottle  of  claret  she  whispered: 

"  This  is  screamingly  funny,  Cynthia.  I  have 
solved  the  riddle  at  last.  Our  chauffeur  is  using 
his  master's  car  and  his  master's  eatables  as  well." 

"  Don't  care  a  cent,"  said  Cynthia,  who  found  the 
lobster  admirable. 

"  But  if  any  inquiry  is  made  and  our  names  are 
mixed  up  in  it,  Mr.  Vanrenen  may  be  angry." 

"  Father  would  be  tickled  to  death.  I  shall  insist 
on  paying  for  everything,  of  course,  and  my  re- 
sponsibility ends  there.  No,  thank  you — "  this  to 
Medenham  who  was  offering  her  a  glass  of  wine. 
"  I  drink  water  only.  Have  you  any  ?  " 

Mrs.  Devar  took  the  wine,  and  Medenham  fished 
in  the  basket  for  the  St.  Galmier,  since  Lady  St. 
Maur  cultivated  gout  with  her  biliousness. 

"  Dear  me !  "  she  murmured  after  a  sip. 

"  What  is  it  now?  "  asked  Cynthia. 

"  Perfect,  my  dear.  Such  a  bouquet !  I  wonder 
what  house  it  came  from,"  and  she  pondered  the  crest 
again,  but  in  vain,  for  heraldry  is  an  exact  science, 
and  the  greater  part  of  her  education  had  been  given 
by  a  hard  world.  She  did  not  fail,  therefore,  to 

29 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

notice  that  three  persons  were  catered  for  by  the 
packer  of  the  basket.  An  unknown  upper  housemaid 
was  already  suspect,  and  now  she  added  mentally 
"  some  shop-girl  friend."  The  climax  was  reached 
when  Medenham  staged  the  strawberries.  Cynthia, 
to  whom  the  good  things  of  the  table  were  common- 
places, ate  them  and  was  thankful,  but  Mrs.  Devar 
made  another  note :  "  Ten  shillings  a  basket,  at  the 
very  least ;  and  three  baskets!  " 

A  deep,  booming  yell  from  the  mob  proclaimed 
that  the  second  race  was  in  progress. 

"  I  can't  see  a  thing  unless  I  am  perched  on  the 
seat,  and  if  I  stand  up  I  shall  upset  the  crockery," 
announced  Cynthia.  "  But  I  am  not  interested  yet 
awhile.  If  Grimalkin  wins  I  shall  shout  myself 
hoarse." 

"  He  hasn't  a  ghost  of  a  chance,"  said  Meden- 
ham. 

"  Oh,  but  he  has.     Mr.  Deane  told  my  father " 

"  But  Tomkinson  told  me,"  he  interrupted. 

"  Tomkinson.      Is  that  your  butler  friend?  " 

"  Yes.      He  says  the  King's  horse  will  win." 

"  Surely  the  owner  of  Grimalkin  must  know  more 
about  the  race  than  a  butler?  " 

"  You  would  not  think  so,  Miss  Vanrenen,  if  you 
knew  Tomkinson." 

"  Where  is  he  butler  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Devar 
suavely. 

"  I  forget  for  the  moment,  madam,"  replied  Meden- 
ham with  equal  suavity. 

30 


The  First  Day's  Run 

The  lady  waived  the  retort.  She  was  sure  of  her 
ground  now. 

"  In  any  case,  I  imagine  that  both  Mr.  Deane  and 
this  Tomkinson  may  be  mistaken.  I  am  told  that 
a  horse  trained  locally  has  a  splendid  chance — let 
me  see — yes,  here  it  is:  the  Honorable  Charles  Fen- 
ton's  Vendetta." 

It  was  well  that  those  bulging  steel-gray  eyes  were 
bent  over  the  card,  or  they  could  not  have  failed  to 
catch  the  flicker  of  amazement  that  swept  across 
Medenham's  sun-browned  face  when  he  heard  the 
name  of  his  cousin.  He  had  not  been  in  England 
a  full  week  as  yet,  and  he  happened  not  to  have 
read  a  list  of  probable  starters  for  the  Derby.  He 
had  glanced  at  the  programme  during  breakfast  that 
morning,  but  some  remark  made  by  the  Earl  caused 
him  to  lay  down  the  newspaper,  and,  when  next  he 
picked  it  up,  he  became  interested  in  an  article  on 
the  Cape  to  Cairo  railway,  written  by  someone  who 
had  not  the  remotest  notion  of  the  difficulties  to  be 
surmounted  before  that  very  desirable  line  can  be 
constructed. 

Cynthia,  however,  was  watching  him,  and  she 
laughed  gleefully. 

"  Ah,  Fitzroy,  you  hadn't  heard  of  Vendetta  be- 
fore," she  cried.  "  Confess  now — your  faith  in  Tom- 
kinson is  shaken." 

"  Vendetta  certainly  does  sound  like  war  to  the 
knife,"  said  he. 

"  It  is  twenty  to  one,"  purred  Mrs.  Devar  com- 

31 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

placently.  "  I  shall  risk  the  five  pounds  I  won  on 
the  first  race,  and  it  will  be  very  nice  if  I  receive  a 
hundred." 

"  I  stick  to  Old  Glory,"  announced  the  valiant 
Cynthia. 

"  The  King  for  me,"  declared  Medenham,  though 
he  realized,  without  any  knowledge  of  the  merits  of 
the  horses  engaged,  that  the  Honorable  Charles  was 
not  the  sort  of  man  to  run  a  three-year-old  in  the 
Derby  merely  for  the  sake  of  seeing  his  racing  colors 
flashing  in  the  sun. 

Mrs.  Devar  kept  to  her  word,  and  handed  over 
the  five  pounds.  Cynthia  staked  seven,  the  five  she 
had  won  and  the  ten  dollars  of  her  original  intent: 
whereupon  Medenham  said  that  he  must  cross  the 
course  and  make  these  bets  in  the  ring — would  the 
ladies  raise  any  objection  to  his  absence,  as  he 
could  not  return  until  after  the  race?  No, 
they  were  quite  content  to  remain  in  the  car, 
so  he  repacked  the  luncheon  basket  and  left 
them. 

Vendetta  won  by  three  lengths. 

Medenham  had  secured  twenty-five  to  one,  and  the 
bookmaker  who  paid  him  added  the  genial  advice: 
"  Put  that  little  lot  where  the  flies  can't  get  at  it." 
The  man  could  afford  to  be  affable,  seeing  that  the 
bet  was  the  only  one  in  his  book  against  the  horse's 
name.  The  King's  horse  and  Grimalkin  were  the 
public  favorites,  but  both  were  hopelessly  shut  in  at 
Tattenham  Corner,  and  neither  showed  in  the  front 

32 


The  First  Day's  Run 

rank  at  any  stage  of  a  fast  run  race.  When  Meden- 
ham  climbed  the  hill  again,  hot  and  uncomfortable 
in  his  leather  clothing,  Mrs.  Devar  actually  welcomed 
him  with  an  expansive  smile. 

"  What  odds  did  you  get  me  ?  "  she  cried,  as  soon 
as  he  was  within  earshot. 

"  A  hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds  to  five,  ma- 
dam," he  said. 

"  Oh,  what  luck !  You  must  keep  the  odd  five 
pounds,  Fitzroy." 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  hedged  on  Vendetta,  so  I  am 
still  winning." 

"  But  really,  I  insist." 

He  handed  her  a  bundle  of  notes. 

"  You  will  find  a  hundred  and  thirty  pounds  there," 
he  said,  and  she  understood  that  his  refusal  to  accept 
her  money  was  final.  She  was  intensely  surprised 
that  he  had  given  her  so  much  more  than  she  ex- 
pected, and  the  first  unworthy  thought  was  succeeded 
by  a  second — how  dared  this  impudent  chauffeur  de- 
cline her  bounty? 

Cynthia  pouted  at  him. 

"  Your  Tomkinson  is  a  fraud,"  she  said. 

"  Your  Grimalkin  was  well  named,"  said  he. 

"  That  remark  is  very  cutting,  I  suppose,  Fitz- 
roy." 

"  Oh,  no.  I  merely  meant  to  convey  that  a  cat 
is  not  a  racehorse." 

"  Poor  fellow,"  mused  Cynthia,  "  he  is  vexed  be- 
cause he  lost.  I  must  make  it  up  to  him  somehow, 

33 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

but  he  is  such  an  extraordinary  person,  I  hardly 
dare  suggest  such  a  thing." 

She  began  to  adjust  her  veil  and  dust  coat. 

"  If  you  are  ready,  Mrs.  Devar,"  she  said,  "  I 
think  we  ought  to  hit  the  pike  for  Brighton." 

Mrs.  Devar  laughed.  Fitzroy  evidently  under- 
stood, as  he  had  taken  his  seat  and  the  engine  was 
humming. 

"  Americanisms  are  most  fascinating,"  she  vowed. 
"  I  wish  you  would  use  more  of  them,  Cynthia.  I 
love  them." 

Cynthia  was  slightly  ruffled,  though  if  pressed  for 
a  reason  she  could  hardly  have  given  one. 

"  Slang  is  useful  occasionally,  but  I  am  trying 
to  cure  myself  of  the  habit,"  she  said  tartly. 

"  A  picturesque  phrase  is  always  pardonable.  Oh, 
is  this  quite  safe? " 

The  Mercury,  finding  an  opening,  had  shot  down 
the  hill  with  a  smooth  celerity  that  alarmed  the  older 
woman.  Cynthia  leaned  back  composedly. 

"  Fitzroy  means  to  reach  the  road  before  the  police 
stop  the  traffic  for  the  next  race,"  she  said.  Then, 
after  a  pause,  she  added :  "  I  wish  we  could  keep  this 
car  for  the  rest  of  our  tour,  yet  I  suppose  I  ought 
not  to  interfere  in  the  arrangement  father  made  with 
Simmonds." 

Mrs.  Devar  frowned.  Her  momentary  tremor  had 
fled,  and  she  had  every  cause  to  regard  with  uneasi- 
ness the  threatened  substitution  during  the  forthcom- 
ing ten  days,  of  this  quite  impossible  Fitzroy  for 

34 


The  First  Day's  Run 

that  very  chauffeur-like  person,  Simmonds.  Her  ac- 
quaintance with  Peter  Vanrenen  and  his  daughter 
was  sufficiently  intimate  to  warn  her  that  Cynthia's 
least  desire  was  granted  by  her  indulgent  parent; 
in  fact,  Cynthia  would  have  been  hopelessly  spoilt 
were  it  not  for  a  combination  of  those  happy  chances 
which  seem  to  conspire  at  times  in  the  creation  of 
the  American  girl  at  her  best.  She  was  devoted  to 
her  father,  her  nature  was  bright  and  cheerful,  and 
she  had  a  heart  that  bubbled  over  with  kindliness. 
Mrs.  Devar  chose  the  right  line  of  attack.  She  re- 
solved to  appeal  to  the  girl's  sympathies. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  would  be  a  rather  cruel  thing  to 
deprive  Simmonds  of  his  engagement,"  she  said  softly. 
"  He  has  bought  a  car,  I  understand,  on  the  strength 
of  the  contract  with  Mr.  Vanrenen " 

"  That  doesn't  cut  any  ice — I  mean  there  would 
be  no  ill  effect  for  Simmonds,"  explained  Cynthia 
hurriedly.  "  Father  will  meet  us  in  London  at  the 
end  of  our  run,  and  Simmonds  could  come  to  us 
then." 

The  steel-gray  eyes  narrowed.  Their  owner  was 
compelled  to  decide  quickly.  As  opposition  was  use- 
less, she  laughed,  with  the  careless  ease  of  one  who 
was  in  no  way  concerned. 

"  Don't  you  think,"  she  said,  "  that  if  your  father 
sees  this  car  Simmonds  will  be  dispensed  with  some- 
how? " 

Cynthia  nodded.  The  argument  was  unanswer- 
able. 

35 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

They  were  crossing  the  course  at  a  walking  pace; 
at  that  point  a  sort  of  passage  was  kept  clear  by 
the  police  for  the  convenience  of  those  occupants 
of  the  stands  who  wished  to  visit  the  paddock.  The 
owner  of  Vendetta,  having  been  congratulated  by 
royalty,  was  taking  some  friends  to  admire  the  horse 
during  the  rubbing-down  process,  when  his  glance 
suddenly  fell  on  Medenham.  Though  amazed,  he 
was  not  rendered  speechless. 

"  Well,  I'm "  he  began. 

But  the  Mercury  possessed  a  singularly  loud  and 
clear  motor-horn,  and  the  voice  of  the  Honorable 
Charles  was  drowned.  Still,  his  gestures  were  elo- 
quent. Quite  obviously,  he  was  saying  to  a  man 
whose  arm  he  caught: 

"  Did  you  ever  in  your  life  see  anybody  more  like 
George  than  that  chauffeur?  Why,  damme,  it  is 
Medenham !  " 

So  Mrs.  Devar  lost  a  golden  opportunity.  She 
knew  Fenton  by  sight,  and  her  shrewd  wits  must  have 
set  her  on  the  right  track  had  she  witnessed  his 
bewilderment.  Being  a  pretentious  person,  however, 
and  not  able  to  afford  the  up-keep  of  a  motor,  she 
was  enjoying  the  surprise  of  two  well-dressed  women 
who  recognized  her.  Then  the  car  leaped  forward 
again,  and  she  scored  a  dearly  won  triumph. 

At  this  crisis  Medenham's  scrutiny  of  the  road  map 
provided  by  Simmonds  for  the  tour  was  well  repaid. 
He  turned  sharp  to  the  right  past  the  back  of  the 
stands,  and  was  fortunate  in  finding  enough  clear 


The  First  Day's  Run 

road  to  render  pursuit  by  his  elderly  cousin  a  vain 
thing,  even  if  it  were  thought  of.  The  Mercury  had 
to  cross  the  caravan  zone  carefully,  but  once  Tatten- 
ham  Corner  was  reached  the  way  lay  open  to  Rei- 
gate. 

Through  a  land  of  gorse  and  heather  they  sped 
until  they  came  to  the  famous  hill.  They  ran  down 
in  a  noiseless  flight  that  caused  Cynthia  to  experience 
the  sensation  of  being  borne  on  wings. 

"  I  imagine  that  aeroplaning  is  something  like 
this,"  she  confided  to  her  companion. 

"  If  it  is,  it  must  be  enjoyable.  I  don't  suppose, 
at  my  time  of  life,  I  shall  ever  try  to  navigate  the 
air  in  one  of  those  frail  contrivances  pictured  in  the 
newspapers.  But  I  was  nearly  tempted  to  go  up 
in  a  balloon  two  years  ago." 

Cynthia  stole  a  glance  at  Mrs.  Devar's  rotund 
figure,  and  laughed.  She  could  not  help  it,  though 
she  flushed  furiously  at  what  she  deemed  an  in- 
voluntary rudeness  on  her  part. 

"  Oh,  it  sounds  funny,  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  the 
other,  placidly  good-tempered,  "  but  I  really  meant 
it  at  the  moment.  You  have  met  Count  Edouard 
Marigny,  I  fancy?  " 

"  Yes,  in  Paris  last  month.      In  fact " 

Cynthia  hesitated.  She  had  scarcely  recovered 
from  the  excitement  of  the  racing  and  was  not  choos- 
ing her  words  quite  happily.  Mrs.  Devar,  still 
sugary,  ended  the  sentence. 

"  In  fact,  it  was  he  who  recommended  me  to  Mr. 

S7 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

Vanrenen  as  your  chaperon.  Yes,  my  dear,  Mon- 
sieur Marigny  and  I  are  old  friends.  He  and  my 
son  are  inseparable  when  Captain  Devar  is  in  Paris. 
Well,  as  I  was  saying,  the  Count  offered  to  take 
me  up  in  his  balloon,  L'Etoile,  and  I  was  ready  to 
go,  but  the  weather  became  stormy  and  an  ascent 
from  the  Velo  was  impossible,  or  highly  dangerous, 
at  any  rate." 

Mrs.  Devar  cultivated  the  high-pitched  voice  that 
she  regarded  as  the  hall-mark  of  good  breeding,  and, 
in  that  silent  rush  downhill,  Medenham  could  not 
avoid  hearing  each  syllable.  It  was  eminently  pleas- 
ing to  listen  to  Cynthia's  praise  of  his  car,  and  he 
was  wroth  with  the  other  woman  for  wrenching  the 
girl's  thoughts  away  so  promptly  from  a  topic  dear 
to  his  heart.  Therein  he  erred,  for  the  gods  were 
being  kind  to  him.  Little  recking  how  valuable  was 
the  information  he  had  just  been  given,  he  slackened 
speed  somewhat,  and  leaned  back  in  the  seat. 

"  We  are  nearing  Reigate  now,"  he  remarked  with 
half-turned  head.  "  The  town  begins  on  the  other 
side  of  that  tunnel.  Which  inn  do  you  wish  to  stop 
at  for  tea?" 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  barely  ended  lunch," 
said  Cynthia.  "  Shall  we  cut  out  your  old-world 
Reigate  inn,  Mrs.  Devar,  and  take  tea  at  Crawley 
or  Handcross  ?  " 

"  By  all  means.  How  well  you  know  the  names 
of  the  towns  and  villages.  Yet  you  hare  never  be- 
fore visited  this  part  of  England." 

38 


The  First  Day's  Rim 

"  We  Americans  are  nothing  if  not  thorough," 
answered  the  girl.  "  I  would  not  be  happy  if  I 
failed  to  look  up  our  route  on  the  map.  More  than 
that,  I  note  the  name  of  each  river  we  cross  and 
try  to  identify  every  range  of  hills.  You  must  test 
me  and  count  my  mistakes." 

Mrs.  Devar  spread  her  hands  in  a  gesture  copied 
from  her  French  acquaintances. 

"  My  dear,  I  am  the  most  ignorant  person  geo- 
graphically. I  remember  how  that  delightful  Count 
Edouard  laughed  when  I  asked  him  if  the  Loire 
joined  the  Seine  above  or  below  Paris.  It  seems 
that  I  was  thinking  of  the  Oise  all  the  time.  The 
Marchioness  of  Belfort  told  me  of  my  error  after- 
wards." 

Cynthia  laughed  merrily,  but  made  no  reply. 

Medenham  bent  over  the  levers  and  the  car  danced 
on  through  Reigate.  Mrs.  Devar  impressed  him  as 
a  despicable  type  of  tuft-hunter.  His  acquaintance 
with  the  species  was  not  extensive;  he  had  read  of 
elderly  dowagers  who  eked  out  their  slender  means 
by  introducing  the  daughters  of  rich  Americans  to 
English  society,  and  the  thing  was  not  in  itself  wholly 
indefensible;  but  he  felt  sure  that  Cynthia  Vanrenen 
needed  no  such  social  sponsor,  while  the  mere 
bracketing  of  Count  Edouard  Marigny  with 
"  Jimmy "  Devar  caused  him  to  regard  this  un- 
known Frenchman  with  a  suspicion  that  was  already 
active  enough  so  far  as  Mrs.  Devar  was  con- 
cerned. And  the  Marchioness  of  Belfort,  too! 

39 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

A  decrepit  old  cadger  with  an  infallible  system  for 
roulette ! 

Perhaps  his  mood  communicated  itself  to  the  ac- 
celerator. At  any  rate,  the  Mercury  seemed  to  sym- 
pathize, and  it  was  a  lucky  hazard  that  kept  the 
glorious  stretch  of  road  between  Reigate  and  Crawley 
free  of  police  traps  on  that  memorable  Wednesday. 
The  car  simply  leaped  out  of  Surrey  into  Sussex, 
the  undulating  parklands  on  both  sides  of  the  smooth 
highway  appearing  to  float  past  in  stately  proces- 
sion, and  there  was  a  fine  gleam  in  Cynthia's  blue 
eyes  when  the  first  check  to  a  splendid  run  came  in 
the  outskirts  of  Crawley. 

She  leaned  forward  and  tapped  him  on  the  shoul- 
der. 

"  Tea  here,  please,"  she  said.  Then  she  added,  as 
if  it  were  an  afterthought :  "  If  you  promise  to  let 
her  rip  in  that  style  after  we  reach  the  open  country 
again  I  shall  sit  on  the  front  seat." 

The  words  were  almost  whispered  into  his  ear. 
Certainly  they  were  not  meant  to  enlighten  Mrs. 
Devar,  and  Medenham,  turning,  found  his  face  very 
near  the  girl's. 

"  I'm  bribed,"  he  answered,  and  not  until  both  were 
settled  back  in  their  seats  did  they  realize  that  either 
had  said  anything  unusual. 

Medenham,  however,  took  his  cup  of  tea  a  la 
chauffeur,  helping  himself  to  bread  and  butter  from 
a  plate  deposited  on  the  bonnet  by  a  waiting-maid. 

When  the  ladies  reappeared  from  the  interior  of 

40 


The  First  Day's  Run 

a  roadside  restaurant  he  was  in  his  place,  ready  to 
start.  He  did  not  offer  to  put  them  in  the  car, 
adjust  their  wraps,  and  close  the  door.  If  Miss 
Vanrenen  liked  to  keep  her  promise,  that  was  her 
affair,  but  no  action  on  his  part  would  hint  of  prior 
knowledge  that  she  intended  to  ride  in  front. 

Nevertheless,  he  could  not  repress  a  smile  when 
he  heard  Mrs.  Devar's  distinctly  chilly,  "  Oh,  not 
at  all !  "  in  response  to  Cynthia's  polite  apology  for 
deserting  her  until  they  neared  Brighton. 

Somehow,  the  car  underwent  a  subtle  change  when 
the  girl  took  her  seat  by  his  side.  From  a  machine 
quivering  with  life  and  power  it  became  a  triumphal 
chariot.  By  sheer  perfection  of  mechanical  energy 
it  had  bridged  the  gulf  that  lay  between  the  mil- 
lionaire's daughter  and  the  hired  man,  since  there 
could  be  no  question  that  Cynthia  Vanrenen  placed 
Viscount  Medenham  in  no  other  category.  Indeed, 
his  occasional  lapses  from  the  demeanor  of  a  lower 
social  grade  might  well  have  earned  him  her  marked 
disfavor,  and,  as  there  was  no  shred  of  personal 
vanity  in  his  character,  he  gave  all  the  credit  to 
the  sentient  creature  of  steel  and  iron  that  was  so 
ready  to  respond  to  his  touch. 

Swayed  by  an  unconscious  telepathy,  the  girl  al- 
most interpreted  his  unspoken  thought.  She  watched 
his  deft  manipulation  of  levers  and  brakes,  and  fan- 
cied that  his  hands  dwelt  on  the  steering-wheel  with 


a  caress. 

M 


You  have   a   real  lovely   automobile,  Fitzroy," 
41 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

she  said,  "  and  I  have  a  sort  of  notion  that  you  are 
devoted  to  it.  May  I  ask — is  it  your  own  car?  " 

"  Yes.  I  bought  it  six  months  ago.  I  learnt  to 
drive  in  France,  and,  as  soon  as  I  heard  of  the  new 
American  engine,  I — er — couldn't  rest  until  I  had 
tried  it." 

He  was  on  the  point  of  saying  something  wholly 
different,  but  managed  to  twist  the  second  half  of 
the  sentence  in  time.  What  would  Miss  Vanrenen 
have  thought  had  he  continued :  "  I  sent  my  chauffeur 
to  England,  and,  on  receipt  of  his  report,  I  had  this 
car  shipped  within  a  week?  " 

There  are  problems  too  deep  for  speculation  when 
a  man  is  guiding  a  ton  of  palpitating  metal  along 
a  hedge-lined  road  at  forty  miles  an  hour.  This 
was  one. 

Cynthia,  knowing  nothing  of  any  "  new  American 
engine,"  would  die  rather  than  confess  her  ignorance. 
Moreover,  she  was  pondering  a  problem  of  her  own. 
If  it  was  not  his  master's  car  he  might  be  open  to 
a  bargain. 

"  Simmonds  is  an  old  friend  of  yours,  I  suppose?  " 
she  said. 

"  Yes,  I  have  known  him  some  years.  We  were 
in  South  Africa  together." 

"  In  the  war,  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  How  dreadful !    Have  you  ever  killed  anybody  ?  " 

"  Not  with  petrol,  I  am  happy  to  state." 

There  was  an  eloquent  pause.      Cynthia  examined 


The  First  Day's  Run 

his  reply,  and  discovered  that  it  covered  a  good  deal 
of  ground.  Perhaps,  too,  it  conveyed  the  least  little 
bit  of  a  snub.  Hence,  her  tone  stiffened  percep- 
tibly. 

"  I  mentioned  Simmonds,"  she  explained,  "  because 
I  think  my  father  might  arrange — to  the  satisfaction 
of  all  parties,  of  course — that  you  should  carry 
through  this  present  tour,  while  Simmonds  would 
come  into  our  service  when  we  return  to  London." 

Medenham  laughed.  In  its  way,  the  compliment 
was  graceful  and  well  meant,  but  the  utter  absurdity 
of  his  position  was  now  thrust  upon  him  with  over- 
whelming force. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Miss  Vanrenen," 
he  said,  venturing  to  look  once  more  into  those  allur- 
ing eyes,  so  shy,  so  daring,  so  divinely  wise  and  child- 
ishly candid.  "  If  circumstances  permitted,  there 
is  nothing  I  would  like  better  than  to  take  you 
through  this  Paradise  of  a  June  England;  but  it 
is  quite  impossible.  Simmonds  must  bring  his  car 
to  Bristol,  as  I  positively  cannot  be  absent  from  town 
longer  than  three  days." 

Cynthia  did  not  pout.  She  nodded  appreciation 
of  the  weighty  if  undescribed  business  that  called 
Fitzroy  and  his  Mercury  back  to  London,  but  in  her 
heart  she  mused  on  the  strangeness  of  things,  and 
wondered  if  this  smiling  land  produced  many  chauf- 
feurs who  lauded  it  in  such  phrases. 

Up  and  down  Handcross  Hill  they  whirred,  treat- 
ing that  respectable  eminence  as  if  it  were  a  snow 

43 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

bump  in  the  path  of  a  flying  toboggan.  Medenham 
had  roamed  the  South  Downs  as  a  boy,  and  he  was 
able  now  to  point  out  Chanctonbury  Ring,  the  Devil's 
Dyke,  Ditchling  Beacon,  and  the  rest  of  the  round- 
shouldered  giants  that  guard  the  Weald.  In  the 
mellow  light  of  a  superlatively  fine  afternoon  the 
Downs  wore  their  gayest  raiment  of  blue  and  purple, 
red  and  green — decked,  too,  with  ribands  of  white 
roads  and  ruffs  of  rose-laden  hedges. 

Cynthia  forgot  many  times,  and  he  hardly  ever 
remembered,  that  he  was  a  chauffeur,  and  the  miles, 
too,  were  disregarded  until  the  sea  sparkled  in  their 
eyes  as  they  emerged  from  the  great  gap  which  the 
Devil  forebore  to  use  when  he  planned  to  swamp  a 
land  of  churches  by  cutting  the  famous  dyke. 

Then  the  girl  awoke  from  a  day-dream,  and  the 
car  was  stopped  on  the  pretense  that  this  marvelous 
landscape  must  be  viewed  in  silence  and  at  rest.  She 
rejoined  Mrs.  Devar,  and  began  instantly  to  ex- 
patiate on  the  beauties  of  Sussex,  so  Medenham  ran 
slowly  down  the  hill  through  Patcham  and  Preston 
into  Brighton. 

And  there,  sitting  in  the  wide  porch  of  the  Hotel 
Metropole,  was  a  slim,  handsome  Frenchman,  who 
sprang  up  with  all  the  vivacity  of  his  race  when  the 
Mercury  drew  up  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  dusty  after 
its  long  run,  but  circumspect  as  though  it  had  just 
quitted  the  garage. 

"  Mrs.  Devar,  Miss  Vanrenen !  what  a  delightful 
surprise !  "  cried  the  stranger  with  an  accompaniment 

44 


The  First  Day's  Run 

of  wide  smiles  and  hat  flourishing.  •  "  Who  would 
have  thought  of  meeting  you  here?  Voyez,  done,  I 
was  moping  in  solitude  when  suddenly  the  sky  opens 
and  you  appear." 

"  Deae  ex  machind,  in  fact,  Monsieur  Marigny," 
said  Cynthia,  shaking  hands  with  this  overjoyed 
gentleman. 

Mrs.  Devar,  not  understanding,  cackled  loudly. 

«  We've  had  a  lovely  run  from  town,  Count  Edou- 
ard,"  she  gushed,  "  and  it  is  just  too  awfully  nice 
of  you  to  be  in  Brighton.  Now,  don't  say  you  have 
made  all  sorts  of  engagements  for  the  evening." 

"  Such  as  they  are  they  go  by  the  board,  dear 
lady,"  said  the  gallant  Count,  who  had  good  teeth, 
and  showed  them  in  a  succession  of  grins. 

"  Ten  to-morrow  morning,  Fitzroy,"  said  Cynthia, 
turning  on  the  steps  as  she  was  about  to  enter  the 
hotel.  He  lifted  his  cap. 

"  The  car  will  be  ready,  Miss  Vanrenen,"  said  he. 

He  got  down,  and  scowled,  yes,  actually  scowled, 
at  a  porter  who  was  hauling  too  strongly  at  the  straps 
and  buckles  of  the  dust-covered  trunks. 

"  Damage  the  car's  paint  and  I'll  raise  bigger  blis- 
ters on  yours,"  was  what  he  said  to  the  man.  But 
his  thoughts  were  of  Count  Edouard  Marigny,  and, 
like  the  people's  discussion  of  the  Derby,  they  took 
the  form  of  question  and  answer. 

"  When  is  a  coincidence  not  *a  coincidence  ?  "  he 
asked  himself. 

"  When  it  is  prearranged,"  was  the  answer. 

45 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

Then  he  drove  round  to  the  yard  at  the  rear  of  the 
hotel,  where  Dale  awaited  him,  for  Medenham  would 
intrust  the  cleaning  of  the  car  to  no  other  hands. 

"  You've  booked  my  room  at  the  Grand  Hotel  and 
taken  my  bag  there  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

"  Make  these  people  give  you  the  key  when  the 
door  is  locked  for  the  night,  and  bring  the  car  to  my 
hotel  at  nine  o'clock." 

He  hurried  away,  and  Dale  looked  after  him. 

"  Something  must  ha'  worried  his  lordship,"  said 
the  man.  "  First  time  I've  ever  seen  him  in  a  bad 
temper.  An'  what  about  Eyot?  Three  to  one  the 
paper  says.  P'raps  he'll  think  of  it  in  the  morning." 


CHAPTER  HI 

SOME   EMOTIONS WITHOUT   A   MORAL 

NOT  until  he  was  dressing,  and  the  contents  of 
his  pockets  were  spread  on  a  table,  did  Medenham 
remember  Dale's  commission.  It  was  quite  true,  as 
he  told  Mrs.  Devar,  that  he  had  backed  Vendetta  for 
a  small  stake  on  his  own  account.  But  that  was 
an  afterthought,  and  the  bet  was  made  with  another 
bookmaker  at  reduced  odds.  Altogether,  including 
the  few  sovereigns  in  his  possession  at  the  beginning 
of  the  day,  he  counted  nearly  fifty  pounds  in  gold, 
an  exceptionally  large  amount  to  be  carried  in  Eng- 
land, where  considerations  of  weight  alone  render 
banknotes  preferable. 

He  slipped  Dale's  money  into  an  envelope,  and  took 
thirty  pounds  to  be  exchanged  for  notes  by  the  hotel's 
cashier.  At  the  same  time  he  wrote  a  telegram  to 
his  father,  destroying  two  drafts  before  he  evolved 
something  that  left  his  story  untold  while  quieting 
any  scruples  as  to  lack  of  candor.  It  was  not  that 
the  Earl  would  resent  his  unexpected  disappearance 
after  nearly  four  years'  absence  from  home,  because 
father  and  son  had  met  in  South  Africa  during  the 

4? 


Cynthia  s  Chaufeur 

war,  and  were  together  in  Cannes  and  Paris  sub- 
sequently. His  difficulty  was  to  explain  this  freak 
journey  satisfactorily.  The  Earl  of  Fairholme  held 
feudal  views  anent  the  place  occupied  in  the  world 
by  the  British  aristocracy.  His  own  hot  youth  was 
crowded  with  episodes  that  Medenham  might  regard 
with  disdain,  yet  he  would  be  shocked  out  of  his  well- 
fed  cynicism  by  the  notion  that  his  son  was  galli- 
vanting round  the  country  as  the  chauffeur  of  an 
unconventional  American  girl  and  a  middle-aged 
harpy  like  Mrs.  Devar. 

So  Medenham's  message  was  non-committal. 

Aunt  Susan  was  unable  to  come  Epsom  to-day.  Have 
taken  car  to  Brighton  and  Bournemouth.  Home  Saturday,  per- 
haps earlier.  GEORGE. 

Of  course,  he  meant  to  fill  in  details  verbally.  It 
was  possible  in  conversation  to  impart  a  jesting  turn 
to  an  adventure  which  would  be  unconvincing  and 
ambiguous  in  the  bald  phrases  of  a  telegram. 

Then  he  dined,  filled  a  cigarette  case  from  the 
box  of  Salonikas  which  Tomkinson  had  not  omitted 
to  pack  with  his  clothes,  and  strolled  out,  bare- 
headed, to  enrich  Dale.  He  could  trust  his  man 
absolutely,  and  was  quite  sure  that  the  Mercury 
would  then  be  in  the  drying  stage  after  a  thorough 
cleaning.  Thus  far  he  was  justified,  but  he  had  not 
counted  on  the  pride  of  the  born  mechanic.  Though 
the  car  was  housed  for  the  night,  when  he  entered 

48 


Some  Emotions — Without  a  Moral 

the  garage  the  hood  was  off,  and  Dale  was  annoying 
two  brothers  of  the  craft  by  explaining  the  superi- 
ority of  his  engine  to  every  other  type  of  engine. 

All  three  were  bent  over  the  cylinders,  and  Dale 
was  saying: 

"Just  take  a  squint  at  them  valves,  will  you? — 
ever  seen  anything  like  'em  before?  Of  course  you 
haven't.  Don't  look  like  valves,  eh?  Can  you 
break  'em,  can  you  warp  'em,  can  you  pit  'em  ?  D'ye 
twig  how  the  mixture  reaches  the  cylinder?  None 
of  your  shoulders  or  kinks  to  choke  it  up — is  there? 
— and  the  same  with  the  exhaust.  Would  you  ever 
have  a  mushroom  valve  again  after  you've  once  cast 
your  peepers  over  this  arrangement  ?  Now,  if  I  took 
up  areonotting — if  /  wanted  to  fly  the  Channel " 

He  stopped  abruptly,  having  seen  his  master  stand- 
ing in  the  open  doorway. 

"  By  gad,  Dale,"  cried  Medenham,  "  I  have  never 
heard  your  tongue  wagging  in  that  fashion  before." 

Dale  was  flustered. 

"  Beg  pardon,  my  lord,  but  I  was  only "  he 

began. 

"  Only  using  the  cut-out,  I  fancy.  Come  here,  I 
want  you  a  minute." 

The  other  chauffeurs  suddenly  discovered  that  they 
had  urgent  business  elsewhere.  They  vanished.  Dale 
thought  it  necessary  to  explain. 

"  One  of  them  chaps  has  a  new  French  car,  my 
lord,  and  he  was  blowing  so  loudly  about  it  that  I 
had  to  take  him  down  a  peg  or  two." 

49 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

Medenham  grew  interested.  Lake  every  keen  mo- 
torist, he  could  "  talk  shop  "  at  all  times. 

"  What  sort  of  car?  " 

"  A  59  Du  Vallon,  my  lord.  It  is  the  first  of  its 
class  in  England,  and  I  rather  think  his  guv'nor  is 
running  it  on  show." 

"  Indeed.      Who  is  he?  " 

"  A  count  Somebody-or-other,  my  lord.  I  did 
hear  his  name " 

"  Not  Count  Edouard  Marigny?  "  said  Medenham, 
with  a  sharp  emphasis  that  startled  Dale. 

"  That's  him,  my  lord.  I  hope  I  haven't  done 
anything  wrong." 

Medenham,  early  in  life,  had  formed  the  habit  of 
not  expressing  his  feelings  when  really  vexed,  and  it 
stood  him  in  good  stead  now.  Dale's  blunder  was 
almost  irreparable,  yet  he  could  not  find  it  in  his 
heart  to  blame  the  man  for  being  an  enthusiast. 

"  You  have  put  me  in  a  deuce  of  a  fix,"  he  said 
at  last.  "  This  Frenchman  is  acquainted  with  Miss 
Vanrenen.  He  knows  she  is  here,  and  will  probably 
see  her  off  in  the  morning.  If  his  chauffeur  recog- 
nizes the  car  he  will  be  sure  to  speak  of  it.  That 
gives  the  whole  show  away." 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  my  lord " 

"  Dash  it  all,  there  you  go  again.  But  it  is  largely 
my  own  fault.  I  ought  to  hare  warned  you,  though 
I  little  expected  this  sort  of  a  mix-up.  In  future, 
Dale,  while  this  trip  lasts,  you  must  forget  my  title. 
Look  here,  I  have  brought  you  your  winnings  over 

50 


Some  Emotions — Without  a  Moral 

Eyot — can't  you  rig  up  some  sort  of  a  yarn  that 
I  am  a  sporting  friend  of  yours,  and  that  you  were 
just  trying  to  be  funny  when  you  addressed  me  as 
'  my  lord  '  ?  If  you  have  an  opportunity,  tell  Count 
Marigny's  man  that  your  job  is  taken  temporarily 
by  a  driver  named  Fitzroy.  By  the  way,  is  the 
chauffeur  a  Frenchman,  too?  " 

"  No,  my  1 ."  Dale  caught  Medenham's  eye, 

a  very  cold  eye  at  that  instant.  "  No,  sir.  He's 
just  a  fitter  from  the  London  agency." 

"  Well,  we  must  trust  to  luck.  He  may  not  re- 
member me  in  my  chauffeur's  kit,  which  is  beastly 
uncomfortable,  by  the  way.  I  must  get  you  a  sum- 
mer rig.  Here  is  your  money — five  to  one  I  took. 
Don't  lose  sight  of  those  two  fellows,  and  spend 
this  half  sovereign  on  them.  If  you  can  fill  that 
chap  with  beer  to-night  he  may  have  a  head  in  the 
morning  that  will  keep  him  in  bed  too  late  to  cause 
any  mischief.  When  we  meet  in  Bournemouth  and 
Bristol,  say  nothing  to  anybody  about  either  the  car 
or  me." 

Dale  was  a  model  of  sobriety,  but  the  excitement  of 
"  fives  "  when  he  looked  for  "  threes  "  was  too  much 
for  him. 

"  I'll  tank  him  all  right,  my  1 ,  I  mean,  sir," 

he  vowed  cheerfully. 

Medenham  lit  a  new  cigarette  and  strolled  out  of 
the  yard. 

From  the  corner  of  his  eye  he  saw  Marigny's 
helper  looking  at  him.  Without  undue  exaggeration, 

51 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

he  craned  his  neck,  rounded  his  shoulders,  and  car- 
ried himself  with  the  listless  air  of  a  Piccadilly  idler. 
He  reflected,  too,  that  a  bare-headed  man  in  evening 
dress  would  not  readily  be  identified  with  a  leather- 
coated  chauffeur,  and  Dale,  he  hoped,  was  sufficiently 
endowed  with  mother  wit  to  frame  a  story  plausible 
enough  to  account  for  his  unforeseen  appearance. 
On  the  whole,  the  position  was  not  so  bad  as  it  seemed 
in  that  first  moment  when  the  owner  of  the  59  Du 
Vallon  was  revealed  in  the  handsome  Count. 
In  any  event,  what  did  it  matter  if  his  harm- 
less subterfuge  were  revealed?  The  girl  would 
surely  laugh,  while  Mrs.  Devar  would  squirm. 
So  now  for  a  turn  along  the  front,  and  then  to 
bed. 

It  was  a  perfect  June  evening,  the  fitting  sequel 
to  a  day  of  unbroken  sunshine.  A  marvelous  amber 
light  hovered  beyond  the  level  line  of  the  sea  to 
the  west ;  an  exquisite  blue  suffused  the  horizon  from 
south  to  east,  deepening  from  sapphire  to  ultra- 
marine as  it  blended  with  the  soft  shadows  of  a  sum- 
mer's night.  He  found  himself  comparing  the  sky's 
southeasterly  tint  with  the  azure  depths  of  Cynthia 
Vanrenen's  eyes,  but  he  shook  off  that  fantasy 
quickly,  crossed  the  roadway  and  promenade,  and, 
propping  himself  against  the  railings,  turned  a  reso- 
lute back  on  romance.  He  did  not  gain  a  great 
deal  by  this  maneuver,  since  his  next  active  thought 
was  centered  in  a  species  of  quest  for  the  particular 
window  among  all  those  storeyed  rows  through  which 

52 


Some  Emotions — Without  a  Moral 

Cynthia  Vanrenen  might  even  then  be  gazing  at  the 
shining  ocean. 

He  looked  at  his  watch.      Half-past  nine. 

"  I  am  behaving  like  a  blithering  idiot,"  he  told 
himself.  "  Miss  Vanrenen  and  her  friends  are  either 
on  the  pier  listening  to  the  band,  or  sitting  over  their 
coffee  in  the  glass  cage  behind  there.  I'll  wire  Sim- 
monds  in  the  morning  to  hurry  up." 

A  man  descended  the  steps  of  the  hotel  and  walked 
straight  across  King's  Road.  A  light  gray  over- 
coat, thrown  wide  on  his  shoulders,  gave  a  lavish 
display  of  frilled  shirt,  and  a  gray  Homburg  hat 
was  set  rakishly  on  one  side  of  his  head.  In  the 
half  light  Medenham  at  once  discerned  the  regular, 
waxen-skinned  features  of  Count  Marigny,  and  dur- 
ing the  next  few  seconds  it  really  seemed  as  if  the 
Frenchman  were  making  directly  for  him.  But  an- 
other man,  short,  rotund,  very  erect  of  figure,  and 
strutting  in  gait,  came  from  the  interior  of  a  "  shel- 
ter "  that  stood  a  little  to  the  right  of  Medenham's 
position  on  the  rails. 

"  Hello,  Marigny,"  said  he  jauntily. 

The  Count  looked  back  towards  the  hotel.  His 
tubby  acquaintance  chuckled.  The  effort  squeezed 
an  eyeglass  out  of  his  right  eye. 

"  Aie  pas  peur,  mon  vieux !  "  cried  he  in  very  col- 
loquial French.  "  My  mother  sent  a  note  to  say 
that  the  fair  Cynthia  has  retired  to  her  room  to 
write  letters.  I  have  been  waiting  here  ten  minutes." 

Now,  it  chanced  that  Medenham's  widespread  tour- 

53 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

ing  in  France  had  rubbed  up  his  knowledge  of  the 
language.  It  is  ever  the  ear  that  needs  training 
more  than  the  tongue,  and  in  all  likelihood  he  would 
not  have  caught  the  exact  meaning  of  the  words  were 
it  not  for  the  hap  of  recent  familiarity  with  the 
accents  of  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  French-speak- 
ing folk. 

"  Jimmy  Devar !  "  he  breathed,  and  his  amazement 
lost  him  Marigny's  muttered  answer. 

But  he  heard  Devar's  confident  outburst  as  the 
two  walked  off  together  in  the  direction  of  the  West 
Pier. 

"  You  are  growing  positively  nervous,  my  dear 
Edouard.  And  why?  The  affair  arranges  itself 
admirably.  I  shall  be  always  on  hand,  ready  to  turn 
up  exactly  at  the  right  moment.  What  the  deuce, 
this  is  the  luck  of  a  lifetime  ..." 

The  squeaky,  high-pitched  voice — a  masculine 
variant  of  Mrs.  Devar's  ultra-fashionable  intonation 
— died  away  midst  the  chatter  and  laughter  of  other 
promenaders.  Medenham's  first  impulse  was  to  fol- 
low and  listen,  since  Devar  had  yielded  to  the  com- 
mon delusion  of  imagining  that  none  except  his  com- 
panion on  the  sea-front  that  night  understood  a 
foreign  language.  But  he  swept  the  notion  aside 
ere  it  had  well  presented  itself  as  a  means  of  solving 
an  astounding  puzzle. 

"  No,  dash  it  all,  I'm  not  a  private  detective,"  he 
muttered  angrily.  "  Why  should  I  interfere?  Con- 
found Simmonds,  and  d — n  that  railway  van!  I 

54 


Some  Emotions — Without  a  Moral 

have  a  good  mind  to  hand  the  car  over  to  Dale  in 
the  morning  and  return  to  town  by  the  first  train." 

If  he  really  meant  what  he  said  he  ought  to  have 
gone  back  to  his  hotel,  played  billiards  for  an  hour, 
and  sought  his  bedroom  with  an  easy  conscience. 
He  was  debating  the  point  when  the  conceit  intruded 
itself  that  Cynthia's  pretty  head  was  at  that  moment 
bent  over  a  writing-table  in  a  certain  well-lighted 
corner  apartment  of  the  second  floor,  so  he  com- 
promised with  his  half-formed  intent,  whisked  round 
to  face  the  sea  again,  and  lighted  another  cigarette 
from  the  glowing  end  of  its  predecessor.  Some  part 
of  his  unaccountable  irritation  took  wings  with  the 
cloud  of  smoke. 

"  Blessed  if  I  can  tell  why  I  should  worry,"  he 
communed.  "  Never  saw  the  girl  before  to-day  .  .  . 
shall  never  see  her  again  if  I  put  Dale  in  charge. 
.  .  .  Her  father  must  be  a  special  sort  of  fool, 
though,  to  trust  her  to  the  care  of  the  Devar  woman. 
.  .  .  What  was  it  that  rotter  said  ? — '  The  affair 
arranges  itself  admirably.'  And  he  would  be  '  al- 
ways on  hand.'  What  is  arranging  itself?  .  .  . 
And  why  should  Jimmy  Devar  be  ready,  if  need  be, 
*  to  turn  up  exactly  at  the  right  moment?  '  I  sup- 
pose the  answer  to  the  first  bit  of  the  acrostic  is 
simple  enough.  Cynthia  Vanrenen  is  to  become  the 
Countess  Marigny,  and  the  Devar  gang  stands  in 
on  the  cash  proceeds.  Oh,  a  nice  scheme!  This 
Frenchman  is  posted  as  to  the  tour.  By  the  most 
curious  of  coincidences  he  will  reappear  at  Bourne- 

55 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

mouth,  or  Bristol,  or  in  the  Wye  Valley.  What 
more  natural  than  a  day's  run  in  company?  .  .  . 
Ah,  I've  got  it!  Jimmy  is  to  come  along  when 
Marigny  thinks  that  Cynthia  will  take  a  seat  in 
the  59  Du  Vallon  for  a  change — just  to  try  the  new 
French  car.  .  .  .  By  gad,  I  shall  have  a  word  to 
say  there.  .  .  .  Steady,  now,  George  Augustus! 
Woa,  my  boy ;  keep  a  tight  hand  on  the  reins.  Why 
in  thunder  should  you  concern  yourself  with  the 
wretched  business,  anyhow?  " 

It  was  a  marvelously  still  night.  Beneath  him,  on 
an  asphalted  path  nearly  level  with  the  stone-strewed 
beach,  passed  a  young  couple.  The  man's  voice  came 
up  to  him. 

"  Jones  expects  to  be  taken  into  partnership  after 
this  season,  and  I  am  pretty  certain  to  be  given  the 
management  of  the  woolen  department.  If  that 
comes  off,  no  more  long  hours  in  the  shop  for  you, 
Lucy,  but  a  nice  little  house  up  there  on  the  hill, 
just  as  quick  as  we  can  find  it." 

"  Oh,  Charlie  dear,  I  shall  never  be  tired 
then.  .  .  ." 

A  black  arm  was  suddenly  silhouetted  across  the 
shoulders  of  a  white  blouse,  whose  wearer  received  a 
reassuring  hug. 

"  Let's  reckon  up,"  said  the  owner  of  the  arm — 
"  July,  August,  September — three  months,  sweet- 
heart. ..." 

Medenham  had  never  given  a  thought  to  marrying 
until  his  father  hinted  at  the  notion  during  dinner 

56 


Some  Emotions — Without  a  Moral 

the  previous  evening,  and  he  had  laughed  at  it,  being 
absolutely  heart-whole.  There  was  something  ir- 
resistibly comical  then  about  the  Earl's  bland  theory 
that  Fairholme  House  needed  a  sprightly  viscountess, 
yet  now,  twenty-four  hours  later,  he  could  extract 
no  shred  of  humor  from  the  idyl  of  a  draper's  as- 
sistant. It  seemed  to  be  a  perfectly  natural  thing 
that  these  lovers  should  talk  of  mating.  Of  what 
else  should  they  whisper  on  this  midsummer's  night, 
when  the  gloaming  already  bore  the  promise  of  dawn, 
and  the  glory  of  the  sea  and  sky  spread  quiet  har- 
monies through  the  silent  air? 

Perhaps  he  sighed  as  he  turned  away,  but  his  own 
evidence  on  that  point  would  be  inconclusive,  since 
the  first  object  his  wondering  eyes  dwelt  on  was  the 
graceful  figure  of  Cynthia  Vanrenen.  There  was 
no  possibility  of  error.  An  arc  lamp  blazed  over- 
head, and,  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  his  recog- 
nition of  Cynthia  was  obviously  duplicated  by  Cyn- 
thia's recognition  of  her  deputy  chauffeur. 

In  the  girl's  case  some  degree  of  surprise  was  justi- 
fied. It  is  a  truism  of  social  life  that  far  more 
distinctiveness  is  attached  to  the  seemingly  demo- 
cratic severity  of  evening  dress  than  to  any  other 
class  of  masculine  garniture.  Medenham  now  looked 
exactly  what  he  was — a  man  born  and  bred  in  the 
purple.  No  one  could  possibly  mistake  this  well- 
groomed  soldier  for  Dale  or  Simmonds.  His  clever, 
resourceful  face,  his  erect  carriage,  the  very  sugges- 
tion of  mess  uniform  conveyed  by  his  clothing,  told 

57 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

of  lineage  and  a  career.  He  might,  in  sober  earnest, 
have  been  compelled  to  earn  a  living  by  driving  a 
motor-car,  but  no  freak  of  fortune  could  rob  him 
of  his  birthright  as  an  aristocrat. 

Of  course,  Cynthia  was  easily  first  in  the  effort 
to  recover  disturbed  wits. 

"  Like  myself,  you  have  been  tempted  out  by  this 
beautiful  night,  Mr.  Fitzroy,"  she  said. 

Then  "  Mr."  was  a  concession  to  his  attire ;  some- 
how she  imagined  it  would  savor  of  presumption  if 
she  addressed  him  as  an  inferior.  She  could  not  define 
her  mental  attitude  in  words,  but  her  quick  intelli- 
gence responded  to  its  subtle  influence  as  a  mirrored 
lake  records  the  passing  of  a  breeze.  Very  dainty 
and  self-possessed  she  looked  as  she  stood  there  smil- 
ing at  him.  Her  motor  dust-coat  was  utilized  as  a 
wrap.  Beneath  it  she  wore  a  white  muslin  dress 
of  a  studied  simplicity  that,  to  another  woman's 
assessing  gaze,  would  reveal  its  expensiveness.  She 
had  tied  a  veil  of  delicate  lace  around  her  hair  and 
under  her  chin,  and  Medenham  noted,  with  a  species 
of  awe,  that  her  eyes,  so  vividly  blue  in  daylight, 
were  now  dark  as  the  sky  at  night. 

And  he  was  strangely  tongue-tied.  He  found  noth- 
ing to  say  until  after  a  pause  that  verged  on  awk- 
wardness. Then  he  floundered  badly. 

"  I  am  prepared  to  vouch  for  any  explanation  so 
long  as  it  brings  you  here,  Miss  Vanrenen,"  he 
said. 

Cynthia    wanted    to   laugh.      It    was    sufficiently 

58 


Some  Emotions — Without  a  Moral 

ridiculous  to  be  compelled,  as  it  were,  to  treat  a  paid 
servant  as  an  equal,  but  it  savored  of  madness  to 
find  him  verging  on  the  perilous  borderland  of  a 
flirtation. 

"  Do  you  wish,  then,  to  consult  me  on  any  mat- 
ter?" she  asked,  with  American  directness. 

"  I  was  standing  here  and  thinking  of  you,"  he 
said.  "Perhaps  that  accounts  for  your  appear- 
ance. Since  you  have  visited  India  you  may  have 
heard  that  the  higher  Buddhists,  when  they  are 
anxious  that  another  person  shall  act  according  to 
their  desire,  remain  motionless  in  front  of  that  per- 
son's residence  and  concentrate  ardent  thought  on 
their  fixed  intent.  .  .  .  Sitting  in  dhurma  on  a 
man,  they  call  it.  I  suppose  the  same  principle 
applies  to  a  woman." 

"  It  follows  that  you  are  a  higher  Buddhist,  and 
that  you  willed  I  should  come  out.  Your  theory  of 
sitting  on  the  door-mat,  is  it?  wobbles  a  bit  in  prac- 
tice, because  I  really  ran  downstairs  to  tell  Mrs. 
Devar  something  I  had  forgotten  previously.  Not 
finding  her,  I  decided  on  a  stroll.  Instead  of  cross- 
ing the  road  I  walked  up  to  the  left  a  couple  of 
blocks.  Then  I  noticed  the  pier,  and  meant  to  have 
a  look  at  it  before  returning  to  the  hotel.  Any- 
how, you  wanted  me,  Mr.  Fitzroy,  and  here  I  am. 
What  can  I  do  for  you?  " 

Her  tone  of  light  raillery,  supplemented  by  that 
truly  daring  adaptation  of  the  method  of  gaining  a 
cause  favored  by  the  esoteric  philosophy  of  the 

59 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

East,  went  far  to  restore  Medenham's  wandering 
faculties. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  a  few  questions,  Miss  Van- 
renen,"  he  explained. 

"  Pray  do,  as  they  say  in  Boston." 

But  he  was  not  quite  himself  yet.  He  noticed  that 
the  lights  were  extinguished  in  the  corner  of  the 
second  floor. 

"  Is  that  your  room?  "  he  asked,  pointing  to  it. 

"  Yes." 

Her  air  of  blank  amazement  supplied  a  further 
tonic. 

"  Queer  thing!  "  he  said.  "  I  thought  so.  More 
of  the  occult,  I  suppose.  But  I  really  wished  to 
speak  to  you  about  Mrs.  Devar." 

Cynthia  was  obviously  relieved. 

"  Dear  me !  "  she  cried.  "  You  two  have  taken  a 
violent  dislike  to  each  other.  You  see,  Mr.  Fitzroy, 
we  Americans  are  rather  pleased  than  otherwise  if 
a  man  acts  and  speaks  like  a  gentleman  even  though 
he  has  to  earn  a  living  by  hustling  an  automobile, 
but  your  sure-enough  British  dames  exact  a  kind  of 
servility  from  a  chauffeur  that  doesn't  seem  to  fit 
in  with  your  make-up.  Servility  is  a  hard  word, 
but  it  is  the  best  I  can  throw  on  the  screen  at  the 
moment,  and  I'm  real  sorry  if  I  have  hurt  your  feel- 
ings by  using  it." 

Medenham  smiled.  Each  instant  his  calmer  judg- 
ment showed  more  and  more  clearly  that  he  could 
not  offer  any  valid  excuse  for  interference  in  the 

60 


Some  Emotions — Without  a  Moral 

girl's  affairs.  For  all  he  knew  to  the  contrary,  she 
might  be  tremulous  with  delight  at  the  prospect  of 
becoming  a  French  countess ;  if  that  were  so,  the  fact 
that  he  disapproved  of  Mrs.  Devar's  matchmaking 
tactics  would  be  received  very  coldly.  Cynthia's 
natural  interpretation  of  his  allusion  to  her  chaperon 
offered  a  means  of  escape  from  a  difficult  position. 

"  I  am  greatly  obliged  by  your  hint,"  he  said. 
"  Not  that  my  lack  of  good  manners  is  of  much 
account,  seeing  that  I  am  only  a  stop  gap  for  the 
courtly  Simmonds,  but  I  shall  endeavor  to  profit  by 
it  in  my  next  situation." 

"  Now  you  are  getting  at  me,"  cried  Cynthia,  her 
eyes  sparkling  somewhat.  "  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Fitz- 
roy,  I  am  inclined  to  think  you  are  not  a  chauffeur 
at  all." 

"  I  assure  you  there  is  not  a  man  living  who  under- 
stands my  special  type  of  car  better,"  he  protested. 

"  That  isn't  what  I  mean,  so  don't  wriggle.  You 
met  Simmonds  when  he  was  in  trouble,  and  just 
offered  to  take  his  place  for  a  day  or  so,  thereby 
doing  him  a  good  turn — isn't  that  the  truth?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  are  not  in  the  automobile  business  ?  " 

"  I  am,  for  the  time  being." 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  I  was  shy  of  telling 
you  when  we  reached  the  hotel,  but  you  understand, 
of  course,  that  I  pay  your  expenses  during  this  trip. 
The  arrangement  with  Simmonds  was  that  my  father 
ante'd  for  petrol  and  allowed  twelve  shillings  a  day 

61 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

for  the  chauffeur's  meals  and  lodgings.  Is  that 
satisfactory  ?  " 

"  Quite  satisfactory,  Miss  Vanrenen,"  said  Meden- 
ham,  fully  alive  to  the  girl's  effective  ruse  for  the 
re-establishment  of  matters  on  a  proper  footing. 

"  So  you  don't  need  to  worry  about  Mrs.  Devar. 
In  any  event,  since  you  refused  my  offer  to  hire  you 
for  the  tour,  you  will  not  see  a  great  deal  of  her," 
she  went  on,  a  trifle  hurriedly. 

"  There  only  remains  one  other  point,"  he  said, 
trying  to  help  her.  "  Would  you  mind  giving  me 
Mr.  Vanrenen's  address  in  Paris  ?  " 

"  He  is  staying  at  the  Ritz — but  why  do  you  want 
to  know  that?  "  she  demanded  with  a  sudden  lifting 
of  eyebrows,  for  the  hope  was  strong  in  her  that  he 
might  be  induced  to  change  his  plans  so  far  as  the 
next  nine  days  were  concerned. 

"  A  man  in  my  present  position  ought  always  to 
ascertain  the  whereabout  of  millionaires  interested 
in  motoring,"  he  answered  promptly.  "  And  now, 
pardon  me  for  advising  you  not  to  walk  towards  the 
pier  alone." 

"Gracious  me!      Why  not?" 

"  There  is  a  certain  class  of  boisterous  holiday- 
maker  who  might  annoy  you — not  by  downright  ill- 
behavior,  but  by  exercising  a  crude  humor  which  is 
deemed  peculiarly  suitable  to  the  seaside,  though  it 
would  be  none  the  less  distressing  to  you." 

"  In  the  States  that  sort  of  man  gets  shot,"  she 
said,  and  her  cheeks  glowed  with  a  rush  of  color. 

62 


Some  Emotions — Without  a  Moral 

"  Here,  on  the  contrary,  he  often  takes  the  young 
lady's  arm  and  walks  off  with  her,"  persisted  Meden- 
ham. 

"  I'm  going  to  that  pier,"  she  announced.  "  Guess 
you'd  better  escort  me,  Mr.  Fitzroy." 

"  Fate  closes  every  door  in  my  face,"  he  said  sadly. 
"  I  cannot  go  with  you — in  that  direction." 

"  Well,  of  all  the  odd  people ! — why  not  that  way, 
if  any  other?  " 

"  Because  Count  Edouard  Marigny,  the  gentleman 
whose  name  I  could  not  help  overhearing  to-day,  has 
just  gone  there — with  another  man." 

"  Have  you  a  grudge  against  him,  too  ?  " 

"  I  never  set  eyes  on  him  before  six  o'clock  this 
evening,  but  I  imagine  you  would  not  care  to  have 
him  see  you  walking  with  your  chauffeur." 

Cynthia  looked  up  and  down  the  broad  sea  front, 
with  its  thousands  of  lamps  and  droves  of  prome- 
naders. 

"  At  last  I  am  beginning  to  size  up  this  dear  little 
island,"  she  said.  "  I  may  go  with  you  to  a  race- 
track, I  may  sit  by  your  side  for  days  in  an 
automobile,  I  may  even  eat  your  luncheon 
and  drink  your  aunt's  St.  Galmier,  but  I  may 
not  ask  you  to  accompany  me  a  hundred  yards 
from  my  hotel  to  a  pier.  Very  well,  I'll  quit. 
But  before  I  go,  do  tell  me  one  thing.  Did 
you  really  mean  to  bring  your  aunt  to  Epsom 
to-day?" 

"  Yes." 

63 


Cynthias  Chauffeur 

"  A  mother's  sister  sort  of  aunt — a  nice  old  lady 
with  white  hair?  " 

"  One  would  almost  fancy  you  had  met  her,  Miss 
Vanrenen." 

"  Perhaps  I  may,  some  day.  Father  and  I 
are  going  to  Scotland  for  a  month  from  the 
twelfth  of  August.  After  that  we  shall  be  in 
the  Savoy  Hotel  about  six  weeks.  Bring  her  to 
see  me." 

Medenham  almost  jumped  when  he  heard  of  the 
projected  visit  to  the  Highlands,  but  some  demon  of 
mischief  urged  him  to  say : 

"  Let's  reckon  up.  July,  August,  September — 
three  months " 

He  stopped  with  a  jerk.  Cynthia,  already  aware 
of  some  vague  power  she  possessed  of  stirring  this 
man's  emotions,  did  not  fail  to  detect  his  air  of  re- 
straint. 

"  It  isn't  a  proposition  that  calls  for  such  a  lot 
of  calculation,"  she  said  sharply.  "  Good-night, 
Mr.  Fitzroy.  I  hope  you  are  punctual  morning- 
time.  When  there  is  a  date  to  be  kept,  I'm  a  regular 
alarm  clock,  my  father  says." 

She  sped  across  the  road,  and  into  the  hotel.  Then 
Medenham  noticed  how  dark  it  had  become — re- 
minded him  of  the  tropics,  he  thought — and  made 
for  his  own  caravanserai,  while  his  brain  was  busy 
with  a  number  of  disturbing  but  nebulous  problems 
that  seemed  to  be  pronounced  in  character  yet  sin- 
gularly devoid  of  a  beginning,  a  middle,  or  an  end. 

64 


Some  Emotions — Without  a  Moral 

Indeed,  so  puzzling  and  contradictory  were  they  that 
he  soon  fell  asleep.  When  he  rose  at  seven  o'clock 
next  morning  the  said  problems  had  vanished.  They 
must  have  been  part  and  parcel  with  the  glamor  of 
a  June  night,  and  a  starlit  sky,  and  the  blue  depths 
of  the  sea  and  of  a  girl's  eyes,  for  the  wizard  sun 
had  dispelled  them  long  ere  he  awoke.  But  he  did 
not  telegraph  to  Simmonds. 

Dale  brought  the  car  to  the  Grand  Hotel  in  good 
time,  and  Medenhanj  ran  it  some  distance  along  the 
front  before  drawing  up  at  the  Metropole.  By  that 
means  he  dissipated  any  undue  curiosity  that  might 
be  experienced  by  some  lounger  on  the  pavement  who 
happened  to  notice  the  change  of  chauffeurs,  while 
he  avoided  a  prolonged  scrutiny  by  the  visitors  al- 
ready packed  in  chairs  on  both  sides  of  the  porch. 
He  kept  his  face  hidden  during  the  luggage  strapping 
process,  and  professed  not  to  be  aware  of  Cynthia's 
presence  until  she  bade  him  a  cheery  "  Good-morn- 
ing." 

Of  course,  Marigny  was  there,  and  Mrs.  Devar 
gushed  loudly  for  the  benefit  of  the  other  people  while 
settling  herself  comfortably  in  the  tonneau. 

"  It  was  awfully  devey  of  you,  Count  Edouard, 
to  enliven  our  first  evening  away  from  town.  No 
such  good  fortune  awaits  us  in  Bournemouth,  I  am 
afraid." 

"  If  I  am  to  accept  that  charming  reference  as 
applying  to  myself,  I  can  only  say  that  my  good 
fortune  has  exhausted  itself  already,  madame,"  said 

65 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

the  Frenchman.  "  When  do  you  return  to  Lon- 
don? " 

"  About  the  end  of  next  week,"  put  in  Cynthia. 

"  And  your  father — that  delightful  Monsieur  Van- 
renen,"  said  the  Count,  breaking  into  French,  "  he 
will  join  you  there?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  My  father  and  I  are  seldom  separated 
a  whole  fortnight." 

"  Then  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you 
there.  I  go  to-day  to  Salisbury — after  that,  to 
Hereford  and  Liverpool." 

"  Why,  we  shall  be  in  Hereford  one  day  soon. 
What  fun  if  we  met  again !  " 

Marigny  looked  to  heaven,  or  as  far  in  the  direc- 
tion popularly  assigned  to  heaven  as  the  porch  of 
the  Metropole  would  permit.  He  was  framing  $ 
suitable  speech,  but  the  Mercury  shot  out  into  tho 
open  road  with  a  noiseless  celerity  that  disconcerted 
him. 

Medenham  at  once  slackened  speed  and  leaned 
back. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  he  said,  "  but  I  clean  forgot  to 
ask  if  you  were  quite  ready  to  start." 

Cynthia  laughed. 

"  Go  right  ahead,  Fitzroy,"  she  cried.  "  Guess 
the  Count  is  pretty  mad,  anyhow.  He  was  telling 
us  last  night  that  his  Du  Vallon  is  the  only  car  that 
can  hit  up  twenty  at  the  first  buzz." 

"  Unpardonable  rudeness,"  murmured  Mrs.  Devar. 

"  On  the  Count's  part  ?  "  asked  the  girl  demurely. 

66 


Some  Emotions — Without  a  Moral 

"  No,  of  course  not — on  the  part  of  this  chauffeur 
person." 

"  Oh,  I  like  him,"  was  the  candid  answer.  "  He 
is  a  chauffeur  of  moods,  but  he  can  make  this  car 
hum.  He  and  I  had  quite  a  long  chat  last  night  after 
dinner." 

Mrs.  Devar  sat  up  quickly. 

"  After  dinner — last  night !  "  she  gasped. 

"  Yes — I  ran  into  him  outside  the  hotel." 

"At  what  time?" 

"  About  ten  o'clock.  I  came  to  the  lounge,  but 
you  had  vanished,  and  the  wonderful  light  on  the 
sea  drew  me  out  of  doors." 

"My  dear  Cynthia!" 

"  Well,  go  on ;  that  sounds  like  the  beginning  of 
a  letter." 

Mrs.  Devar  suddenly  determined  not  to  feel  scan- 
dalized. 

"  Ah,  well ! "  she  sighed,  "  one  must  relax  a  little 
when  touring,  but  you  Americans  have  such  free  and 
easy  manners  that  we  staid  Britons  are  apt  to  lose 
our  breath  occasionally  when  we  hear  of  something 
out  of  the  common." 

"  From  what  Fitzroy  said  when  I  told  him  I  was 
going  as  far  as  the  pier  unaccompanied  it  seems  to 
me  that  you  staid  Britons  can  be  freer  if  not  easier," 
retorted  Miss  Vanrenen. 

Her  friend  smiled  sourly. 

"  If  he  disapproved  he  was  right,  I  admit,"  she 
purred. 

67 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

Cynthia  withheld  any  further  confidences. 

"  What  a  splendid  morning !  "  she  said.  "  Eng- 
land is  marvelously  attractive  on  a  day  like  this. 
And  now,  where  is  the  map?  I  didn't  look  up  our 
route  yesterday  evening.  But  Fitzroy  has  it.  We 
lunch  at  Winchester,  I  know,  and  there  I  see  my  first 
English  Cathedral.  Father  advised  me  to  leave  St. 
Paul's  until  I  visit  it  with  him.  He  says  it  is  the 
most  perfect  building  in  the  world  architecturally, 
but  that  no  one  would  realize  it  unless  the  facts  were 
pointed  out.  When  we  were  in  Rome  he  said  that 
St.  Peter's,  grand  as  it  is,  is  all  wrong  in  construc- 
tion. The  thrust  downwards  from  the  dome  is  false, 
it  seems." 

"  Really,"  said  Mrs.  Devar,  who  had  just  caught 
sight  of  Lady  Somebody-or-other  at  the  window  of 
a  house  in  Hove,  and  hoped  that  her  ladyship's  eyes 
were  sufficiently  good  to  distinguish  at  least  one  occu- 
pant of  the  car. 

"  Yes ;  and  Sir  Christopher  Wren  mixed  beams  of 
oak  with  the  stonework  of  his  pillars,  too.  It  gave 
them  strength,  he  believed,  though  Michael  Angelo 
had  probably  never  heard  of  such  a  thing." 

"  You  don't  say  so." 

The  other  woman  had  traveled  far  on  similar  con- 
versational counters.  They  would  have  failed  with 
Cynthia,  but  the  girl  had  opened  the  map,  and  talk 
lagged  for  the  moment. 

Leaving  the  coast  at  Shoreham,  Medenham  turned 
the  car  northward  at  Bramber,  with  its  stone-roofed 

68 


Some  Emotions — Without  a  Moral 

cottages  gilded  with  lichen,  its  tiny  gardens  gay  with 
flowers,  and  the  ruins  of  its  twelfth-century  castle 
frowning  from  the  crest  of  an  elm-clothed  hill.  Two 
miles  to  the  northwest  they  came  upon  ancient  Steyn- 
ing,  now  a  sleepy  country  town,  but  of  greater  im- 
portance than  Bath  or  Birmingham  or  Southampton 
in  the  days  of  the  Confessor,  and  redolent  of  the 
past  by  reason  of  its  church,  with  an  early  Norman 
chancel,  its  houses  bearing  stone  moldings  and  window 
mullions  of  the  Elizabethan  period,  and  its  quaint 
street  names,  such  as  Dog  Lane,  Sheep-pen  Street, 
and  Chantry  Green,  where  two  martyrs  were  burnt. 

Thence  the  way  lay  through  the  leafy  wonderland 
of  West  Sussex,  when  the  Mercury  crept  softly 
through  Midhurst  and  Petersfield  into  Hampshire, 
and  so  to  Winchester,  where  Cynthia,  enraptured 
with  the  cathedral,  used  up  a  whole  reel  of  films,  and 
bought  some  curios  carved  out  of  oak  imbedded  in 
the  walls  when  the  Conqueror  held  England  in  his 
firm  grip. 

They  lunched  at  a  genuine  old  coaching-house  in 
the  main  street,  and  Medenham  persuaded  the  girl 
to  turn  aside  from  Salisbury  in  order  to  pass  through 
the  heart  of  the  New  Forest.  She  sat  with  him  in 
front  then,  and  their  talk  dealt  more  with  the  mag- 
nificent scenery  than  with  personal  matters  until 
they  reached  Ringwood,  where  they  halted  for  tea. 

Before  alighting  at  the  inn  there  she  asked  him 
where  he  meant  to  stay  in  Bournemouth.  He  an- 
swered the  one  question  by  another. 

69 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

"You  put  up  at  the  Bath  Hotel,  I  think?"  he 
said. 

"  Yes.  Someone  told  me  it  was  more  like  a 
Florentine  picture  gallery  than  a  hotel.  Is  that 
true?" 

"  I  have  not  been  to  Florence,  but  the  picture 
gallery  notion  is  all  right.  When  I  was  a  youngster 
I  came  here  often,  and  my — my  people  always — 
well,  you  see " 

He  nibbled  his  mustache  in  dismay,  for  it  was 
hard  to  keep  up  a  pretense  when  Cynthia  was  so 
near.  She  ended  the  sentence  for  him. 

"  You  came  to  the  Bath  Hotel.  Why  not  stay 
there  to-night  ?  " 

"  I  would  like  it  very  much,  if  you  have  no  ob- 
jection." 

"  Just  the  opposite.  But — please  forgive  me  for 
touching  on  money  matters — the  charges  may  be 
rather  dear.  Won't  you  let  me  tell  the  head  waiter 
to — to  include  your  bill  with  ours?" 

"  On  the  strict  condition  that  you  deduct  twelve 
shillings  from  my  account,"  he  said,  stealing  a  glance 
at  her. 

"  I  shall  be  quite  business-like,  I  promise." 

She  was  smiling  at  the  landscape,  or  at  some  fancy 
that  took  her,  perhaps.  But  it  followed  that  a 
messenger  was  sent  for  Dale  to  the  hostelry  where 
he  had  booked  a  room  for  his  master,  and  that  Mrs. 
Devar,  after  one  stony  and  indignant  glare,  whis- 
pered to  Cynthia  in  the  dining-room : 

70 


Some  Emotions — Without  a  Moral 

"  Can  that  man  in  evening  dress,  sitting  alone  near 
the  window,  by  any  possibility  be  our  chauffeur?  " 

"  Yes,"  laughed  the  girl.  "  That  is  Fitzroy.  Say, 
doesn't  he  look  fine  and  dandy?  Don't  you  wish  he 
was  with  us — to  order  the  wine?  And,  by  the  way, 
is  there  a  pier  at  Bournemouth?  " 


CHAPTER  IV 

SHADOWS WITH  OCCASIONAL  GLEAMS 

MRS.  DEVAR  ate  her  soup  in  petrified  silence. 
Among  the  diners  were  at  least  two  peers  and  a 
countess,  all  of  whom  she  knew  slightly ;  at  no  other 
time  during  the  last  twenty  years  would  she  have 
missed  such  an  opportunity  of  impressing  the  com- 
pany in  general  and  her  companion  in  particular  by 
waddling  from  table  to  table  and  greeting  these  ac- 
quaintances with  shrill  volubility. 

But  to-night  she  was  beginning  to  be  alarmed. 
Her  youthful  protegee  was  carrying  democratic  train- 
ing too  far;  it  was  quite  possible  that  a  request  to 
modify  an  unconventional  freedom  of  manner  where 
Fitzroy  was  concerned  would  meet  with  a  blank  re- 
fusal. That  threatened  a  real  difficulty  in  the  near 
future,  and  she  was  much  perturbed  by  being  called 
on  to  decide  instantly  on  a  definite  course  of  action. 
Too  strong  a  line  might  have  worse  consequences 
than  a  laissez  faire  attitude.  As  matters  stood,  the 
girl  was  eminently  plastic,  her  naturally  gentle  dis- 
position inducing  respect  for  the  opinions  and  wishes 
of  an  older  and  more  experienced  woman,  yet  there 
was  a  fearlessness,  a  frank  candor  of  thought,  in 

72 


Shadows — with  Occasioned  Gleams 

Cynthia's  character  that  awed  and  perplexed  Mrs. 
Devar,  in  whom  the  unending  struggle  to  keep  afloat 
in  the  swift  and  relentless  torrent  of  social  existence 
had  atrophied  every  sense  save  that  of  self-preserva- 
tion. An  open  rupture,  such  as  she  feared  might 
take  place  if  she  asserted  her  shadowy  authority,  was 
not  to  be  dreamed  of.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Small 
wonder,  then,  that  she  should  tackle  her  fish  vin- 
dictively. 

"  Are  you  angry  because  Fitzroy  is  occupying 
the  same  hotel  as  ourselves?"  asked  Cynthia  at  last. 

The  girl  had  amused  herself  by  watching  the  small 
coteries  of  stiff  and  starched  Britons  scattered 
throughout  the  room;  she  was  endeavoring  to  clas- 
sify the  traveled  and  the  untraveled  by  varying  de- 
grees of  frigidity.  As  it  happened,  she  was  wholly 
wrong  in  her  rough  analysis.  The  Englishman  who 
has  wandered  over  the  map  is,  if  anything,  more  self- 
contained  than  his  stay-at-home  brother.  He  is 
often  a  stranger  in  his  own  land,  and  the  dozen  most 
reserved  men  present  that  evening  were  probably 
known  by  name  and  deed  throughout  the  widest 
bounds  of  the  empire. 

But,  though  eyes  and  brain  were  busy,  she  could 
not  help  noticing  Mrs.  Devar's  taciturn  mood.  That 
a  born  gossip,  a  retailer  of  personal  reminiscences 
confined  exclusively  to  "  the  best  people,"  should  eat 
stolidly  for  five  consecutive  minutes,  seemed  some- 
what of  a  miracle,  and  Cynthia,  as  was  her  habit, 
came  straight  to  the  point. 

73 


Cynthia 's  Chauffeur 

Mrs.  Devar  managed  to  smile,  pouting  her  lips  in 
wry  mockery  of  the  suggestion  that  a  chauffeur's 
affairs  should  cause  her  any  uneasiness  whatsoever. 

"  I  was  really  thinking  of  our  tour,"  she  lied 
glibly.  "  I  am  so  sorry  you  missed  seeing  Salisbury 
Cathedral.  Why  was  the  route  altered?  " 

"  Because  Fitzroy  remarked  that  the  cathedral 
would  always  remain  at  Salisbury,  whereas  a  perfect 
June  day  in  the  New  Forest  does  not  come  once  in 
a  blue  moon  when  one  really  wants  it." 

"  For  a  person  of  his  class  he  appears  to  say  that 
sort  of  thing  rather  well." 

Cynthia's  arched  eyebrows  were  raised  a  little. 

"  Why  do  you  invariably  insist  on  the  class  dis- 
tinction? "  she  cried.  "  I  have  always  been  taught 
that  in  England  the  barrier  of  rank  is  being  broken 
down  more  and  more  every  day.  Your  society  is  the 
easiest  in  the  world  to  enter.  You  tolerate  people 
in  the  highest  circles  who  would  certainly  suffer 
from  cold  feet  if  they  showed  up  too  prominently  in 
New  York  or  Philadelphia;  isn't  it  rather  out  of 
fashion  to  be  so  exclusive  ?  " 

"  Our  aristocracy  has  such  an  assured  position 
that  it  can  afford  to  unbend,"  quoted  the  other. 

"  Oh,  is  that  it?  I  heard  my  father  say  the  other 
day  that  it  has  often  made  him  tired  to  see  the  way 
in  which  some  of  your  titled  nonentities  grovel  before 
a  Lithuanian  Jew  who  is  a  power  on  the  Rand.  But 
unbending  is  a  different  thing  to  groveling,  per- 
haps?" 

74 


Shadows — with  Occasional  Gleams 

Mrs.  Devar  sighed,  yet  she  gave  a  moment's  scru- 
tiny to  a  wine-list  brought  by  the  head  waiter. 

"  A  small  bottle  of  61,  please,"  she  said  in  an 
undertone. 

Then  she  sighed  again,  deprecating  the  Vanrenen 
directness. 

"  Unfortunately,  my  dear,  few  of  our  set  can  avoid 
altogether  the  worship  of  the  golden  calf." 

Cynthia  thrust  an  obstinate  chin  into  the  argu- 
ment. 

"  People  will  do  things  for  bread  and  butter  that 
they  would  shy  at  if  independent,"  she  said.  "  I 
can  understand  the  calf  proposition  much  more  easily 
than  the  snobbishness  that  would  forbid  a  gentleman 
like  Fitzroy  from  eating  a  meal  in  the  same  apart- 
ment as  his  employers,  simply  because  he  earns  money 
by  driving  an  automobile." 

In  her  earnestness,  Cynthia  had  gone  just  a  little 
beyond  the  bounds  of  fair  comment,  and  Mrs.  Devar 
was  quick  to  seize  the  advantage  thus  offered. 

"  From  some  points  of  view,  Fitzroy  and  I  are  in 
the  same  boat,"  she  said  quietly.  "  Still,  I  cannot 
agree  that  it  is  snobbish  to  regard  a  groom  or  a 
coachman  as  a  social  inferior.  I  have  been  told 
that  there  are  several  broken-down  gentlemen  driving 
omnibuses  in  London,  but  that  is  no  reason  why  one 
should  ask  one  of  them  to  dinner,  even  though  his 
taste  in  wine  might  be  beyond  dispute." 

Cynthia  had  already  regretted  her  impulsive  out- 
burst. Her  vein  of  romance  was  imbedded  in  a  rock 

75 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

of  good  sense,  and  she  took  the  implied  reproof  peni- 
tently. 

"  I  am  afraid  my  sympathies  rather  ran  away  with 
my  manners,"  she  said.  "  Please  forgive  me.  I 
really  didn't  mean  to  charge  you  with  being  a  snob. 
The  absurdity  of  the  statement  carries  its  own  refuta- 
tion. I  spoke  in  general  terms,  and  I  am  willing 
to  admit  that  I  was  wrong  in  asking  the  man  to  come 
here  to-night.  But  the  incident  happened  quite 
naturally.  He  mentioned  the  fact  that  he  often 
stayed  in  the  hotel  as  a  boy " 

"  Very  probably,"  agreed  Mrs.  Devar  cheerfully. 
"  We  are  all  subject  to  ups  and  downs.  For  my 
part,  I  was  speaking  a  la  chaperon,  my  sole  thought 
being  to  safeguard  you  from  the  disagreeable  busy- 
bodies  who  misconstrue  one's  motives.  And  now, 
let  us  talk  of  something  more  amusing.  You  see 
that  woman  in  old  rose  brocade — she  is  sitting  with 
a  bald-headed  man  at  the  third  table  on  your  left. 
Well,  that  is  the  Countess  of  Porthcawl,  and  the  man 
with  her  is  Roger  Ducrot,  the  banker.  Porthcawl  is 
a  most  complaisant  husband.  He  never  comes  within 
a  thousand  miles  of  Millicent.  She  is  awfully  nice; 
clever,  and  witty,  and  the  rest  of  it — quite  a  man's 
woman.  We  are  sure  to  meet  her  in  the  lounge  after 
dinner  and  I  will  introduce  you." 

Cynthia  said  she  would  be  delighted.  Reading 
between  the  lines  of  Mrs.  Devar's  description,  it  was 
not  easy  to  comprehend  the  distinction  that  forbade 
friendship  with  Fitzroy  while  offering  it  with  Milli- 

76 


Shadows — with  Occasional  Gleams 

cent,  Countess  of  Porthcawl.  But  the  girl  was  re- 
solved not  to  open  a  new  rift.  In  her  heart  she 
longed  for  the  day  that  would  reunite  her  to  her 
father;  meanwhile,  Mrs.  Devar  must  be  dealt  with 
gently. 

Despite  its  tame  ending,  this  unctuous  discussion 
on  social  ethics  led  to  wholly  unforeseen  results. 

The  allusion  to  a  possible  pier  at  Bournemouth 
meant  more  than  Mrs.  Devar  imagined,  but  Cynthia 
resisted  the  allurements  of  another  entrancing  even- 
ing, went  early  to  her  room,  and  wrote  duty  letters 
for  a  couple  of  hours.  The  excuse  served  to  cut 
short  her  share  of  the  Countess's  brilliant  conversa- 
tion, though  Mr.  Ducrot  tried  to  make  himself  very 
agreeable  when  he  heard  the  name  of  Vanrenen. 

Medenham,  standing  in  the  hall,  suddenly  came 
face  to  face  with  Lady  Porthcawl,  who  was  endowed 
with  an  unerring  eye  for  minute  shades  of  distinction 
in  the  evening  dress  garments  of  the  opposite  sex. 
Her  correspondence  consisted  largely  of  picture  post- 
cards, and  she  had  just  purchased  some  stamps  from 
the  hall  porter  when  she  saw  Medenham  take  a  tele- 
gram from  the  rack  where  it  had  been  reposing  since 
the  afternoon.  It  was,  she  knew,  addressed  to  "  Vis- 
count Medenham."  That,  and  her  recollection  of 
his  father,  banished  doubt. 

"  George !  "  she  cried,  with  a  charming  air  of  hav- 
ing found  the  one  man  whom  she  was  longing  to  meet, 
"  don't  say  I've  grown  so  old  that  you  have  for- 
gotten me ! " 

77 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

He  started,  rather  more  violently  than  might  be 
looked  for  in  a  shikari  whose  nerves  had  been  tested 
in  many  a  ticklish  encounter  with  other  members  of 
the  cat  tribe.  In  fact,  he  had  just  been  disturbed 
by  coming  across  the  unexpected  telegram,  wherein 
Simmonds  assured  his  lordship  that  the  rejuvenated 
car  would  arrive  at  the  College  Green  Hotel,  Bristol, 
on  Friday  evening.  At  the  very  moment  that  he 
realized  the  imminence  of  Cynthia's  disappearance 
into  the  void  it  was  doubly  disconcerting  to  be  hailed 
by  a  woman  who  knew  his  world  so  intimately  that 
it  would  be  folly  to  smile  vacantly  at  her  presumed 
mistake. 

Some  glint  of  annoyance  must  have  leaped  to  his 
eyes,  for  the  lively  countess  glanced  around  with  a 
mimic  fright  that  testified  to  her  skill  as  an  actress. 

"  Good  gracious !  "  she  whispered,  "  have  I  given 
you  away?  I  couldn't  guess  you  were  here  under 
a  nom  de  voyage — now,  could  I? — when  that  tele- 
gram has  been  staring  at  everybody  for  hours." 

"  You  have  misinterpreted  my  amazement,  Lady 
Porthcawl,"  he  said,  spurred  into  self-possession  by 
the  hint  at  an  intrigue.  "  I  could  not  believe  that 
time  would  turn  back  even  for  a  pretty  woman.  You 
look  younger  than  ever,  though  I  have  not  seen  you 
for " 

"  Oh,  hush !  "  she  cried.  "  Don't  spoil  your  nice 
speech  by  counting  years.  When  did  you  arrive  in 
England?  Are  you  alone — really?  You've  grown 
quite  a  man  in  your  jungles.  Will  you  come  to 

78 


Shadows — with  Occasional  Gleams 

the  lounge?  I  want  ever  so  much  to  have  a  long 
talk  with  you.  Mr.  Ducrot  is  there — the  financier, 
you  know — but  I  have  left  him  safely  anchored  along- 
side Maud  Devar — a  soft-furred  old  pussie  who  is 
clawing  me  now  behind  my  back,  I  am  sure.  Have 
you  ever  met  her?  Wiggy  Devar  she  was  christened 
in  Monte,  because  an  excited  German  leaned  over 
her  at  the  tables  one  night  and  things  happened  to 
her  coiffure.  And  to  show  you  how  broad-minded 
I  am,  I'll  get  her  to  bring  downstairs  the  sweetest 
and  daintiest  American  ingenue  you'd  find  between 
here  and  Chicago,  even  if  you  went  by  way  of  Paris. 
Cynthia  Vanrenen  is  her  name,  daughter  of  the  Van- 
renen.  He  made,  not  a  pile,  but  a  pyramid,  out  of 
Milwaukees.  She  is  it — a  pukka  Gibson  girl,  quite 
ducky,  with  the  dearest  bit  of  an  accent,  and  Mamma 
Devar  is  gadding  around  with  her  in  a  mo-car.  Do 
come ! " 

Medenham  was  able  to  pick  and  choose  where  he 
listed  in  answering  this  hail  of  words. 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,"  he  said,  "  but  the  telegram 
I  have  just  received  affects  all  my  plans.  I  must 
hurry  away  this  instant.  When  will  you  be  in  town  ? 
Then  I  shall  call,  praying  meanwhile  that  there  may 
be  no  Ducrots  or  Devars  there  to  blight  a  glorious 
gossip.  If  you  bring  me  up  to  date  as  to  affairs 
in  Park  Lane  I'll  reciprocate  about  the  giddy  equa- 
tor. How — or  perhaps  I  ought  to  say  where — is 
Porthcawl?" 

"  In    China,"    snapped   her    ladyship,    fully    alive 

79 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

to  Medenham's  polite  evasion  of  her  blandish- 
ments. 

"  By  gad,"  he  laughed,  "  that  is  a  long  way  from 
Bournemouth.  Well,  good-bye.  Keep  me  a  date 
in  Clarges  Street." 

"  Clarges  Street  is  off  the  map,"  she  said  coldly. 
"  It's  South  Belgravia,  verging  on  Pimlico,  nowa- 
days. That  is  why  Porthcawl  is  in  China  .  .  . 
and  it  explains  Ducrot,  too." 

An  unconscious  bitterness  crept  into  the  smooth 
voice;  Medenham,  who  hated  confidences  from  the 
butterfly  type  of  woman,  nevertheless  pitied  her. 

"  Tell  me  where  you  live  and  I'll  come  round  and 
hear  all  about  it,"  he  said  sympathetically. 

She  gave  him  an  address,  and  suddenly  smiled  on 
him  with  a  yearning  tenderness.  She  watched  his 
tall  figure  as  he  strode  down  the  hill  towards  the  town 
to  keep  an  imaginary  appointment. 

"  He  used  to  be  a  nice  boy,"  she  sighed,  "  and 
now  he  is  a  man.  .  .  .  Heigh-ho,  you're  a  back 
number,  Millie,  dear !  " 

But  she  was  her  own  bright  self  when  she  returned  to 
the  bald-headed  Ducrot  and  the  bewigged  Mrs.  Devar. 

"  What  a  small  world  it  is !  "  she  vowed.  "  I  ran 
across  Medenham  in  the  hall." 

The  banker's  shining  forehead  wrinkled  in  a  re- 
flective frown. 

"  Medenham  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Fairholme's  eldest  son." 

Mrs.  Devar  chortled. 

80 


Shadows — with  Occasional  Gleams 

"  Such  fun !  "  she  said.  "  Our  chauffeur  calls 
himself  George  Augustus  Fitzroy." 

"  How  odd !  "  agreed  Countess  Millicent. 

"  You  people  speak  in  riddles.  Who  or  what  is 
odd  ?  "  asked  Ducrot. 

"  Oh,  don't  worry,  but  listen  to  that  adorable 
waltz."  Ducrot's  polished  dome  compared  badly 
with  the  bronzed  skin  of  the  nice  boy  who  had  grown 
to  be  a  man,  so  her  ladyship's  rebellious  tongue 
sought  safety  in  silence,  since  she  could  not  afford 
to  quarrel  with  him. 

It  is  certainly  true  that  the  gods  make  mad  those 
whom  they  mean  to  destroy.  Never  was  woman 
nearer  to  a  momentous  discovery  than  Mrs.  Devar 
at  that  instant,  but  her  active  brain  was  plotting 
how  best  to  develop  a  desirable  acquaintance  in  Roger 
Ducrot,  financier,  and  she  missed  utterly  the  astound- 
ing possibility  that  Viscount  Medenham  and  George 
Augustus  Fitzroy  might  be  one  and  the  same  person. 

In  any  other  conditions  Millicent  Porthcawl's 
sharp  wits  could  scarcely  have  failed  to  ferret  out 
the  truth.  Even  if  Cynthia  were  present  it  was  al- 
most a  foregone  conclusion  that  the  girl  would  have 
told  how  Fitzroy  joined  her.  The  luncheon  pro- 
vided for  a  missing  aunt,  the  crest  on  the  silver  and 
linen,  the  style  of  the  Mercury,  a  chance  allusion  to 
this  somewhat  remarkable  chauffeur's  knowledge  of 
the  South  Downs  and  of  Bournemouth,  would  surely 
have  put  her  ladyship  on  the  right  track.  From 
sheer  enjoyment  of  an  absurd  situation  she  would 

81 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

have  caused  Fitzroy  to  be  summoned  then  and  there, 
if  only  to  see  Wiggy  Devar's  crestfallen  face  on 
learning  that  she  had  entertained  a  viscount  un- 
awares. 

But  the  violins  were  singing  the  Valse  Bleu,  and 
Cynthia  was  upstairs,  longing  for  an  excuse  to  ven- 
ture forth  into  the  night,  and  three  people,  at  least, 
in  the  crowded  lounge  were  thinking  of  anything  but 
the  amazing  oddity  that  had  puzzled  Ducrot,  who 
did  not  con  his  Burke. 

Medenhain,  of  course,  realized  that  he  had  been 
vouchsafed  another  narrow  escape.  What  the  mor- 
row might  bring  forth  he  neither  knew  nor  cared. 
The  one  disconcerting  fact  that  already  shaped  it- 
self in  the  mists  of  the  coming  day  was  Simmonds 
tearing  breathlessly  along  the  Bath  Road  during  the 
all  too  brief  hours  between  morn  and  evening. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  if  he  read  Cynthia's 
thoughts.  There  is  a  language  without  code  or 
symbol  known  to  all  young  men  and  maidens — a 
language  that  pierces  stout  walls  and  leaps  wide 
valleys — and  that  unlettered  tongue  whispered  the 
'hope  that  the  girl  might  saunter  towards  the  pier. 
He  turned  forthwith  into  the  public  gardens,  and 
quickened  his  pace.  Arrived  at  the  pier,  he  glanced 
up  at  the  hotel.  Of  girls  there  were  many  on  cliff 
and  roadway,  girls  summer-like  in  attire,  girls  slender 
of  waist  and  airy  of  tread,  but  no  Cynthia.  He 
went  on  the  pier,  and  met  more  than  one  pair  of 
bright  eyes,  but  not  Cynthia's. 

82 


Shadows — with  Occasional  Gleams 

Then  he  made  off  in  a  fume  to  Dale's  lodging, 
secured  a  linen  dust-coat  which  the  man  happened 
to  have  with  him,  returned  to  the  hotel,  and  hurried 
unseen  to  his  room,  an  easy  matter  in  the  Royal  Bath, 
where  many  staircases  twine  deviously  to  the  upper 
floors,  and  brilliantly  decorated  walls  dazzle  the 
stranger. 

He  counted  on  the  exigencies  of  Lady  Porthcawl's 
toilette  stopping  a  too  early  appearance  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  he  was  right. 

At  ten  o'clock,  when  Cynthia  and  Mrs.  Devar  came 
out,  the  men  lounging  near  the  porch  were  too  inter- 
ested in  the  girl  and  the  car  to  bestow  a  glance  on 
the  chauffeur.  Ducrot  was  there,  bland  and  massive 
in  a  golf  suit.  He  pestered  Cynthia  with  inquiries 
as  to  the  exact  dates  when  her  father  would  be  in 
London,  and  Medenham  did  not  hesitate  to  cut  short 
the  banker's  awkward  gallantries  by  throwing  the 
Mercury  into  her  stride  with  a  whirl. 

"  By  Jove,  Ducrot,"  said  someone,  "  your  pretty 
friend's  car  jumped  off  like  a  gee-gee  under  the  start- 
ing gate." 

"  If  that  chauffeur  of  hers  was  mine,  I'd  boot  him," 
was  the  wrathful  reply. 

"  Why  ?     What's  he  done  ?  " 

"  He  strikes  me  as  an  impudent  puppy." 

"  Anyhow,  he  can  swing  a  motor.  See  that !  " 
for  the  Mercury  had  executed  a  corkscrew  movement 
between  several  vehicles  with  the  sinuous  grace  of  a 
greyhound. 

83 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

Now  it  was  Mrs.  Devar,  and  not  Cynthia,  who 
leaned  forward  and  said  pleasantly: 

"  You  seem  to  be  in  a  hurry  to  leave  Bournemouth, 
Fitzroy." 

"  I  am  not  enamored  of  bricks  and  mortar  on  a 
fine  morning,"  he  answered. 

"  Well,  I  have  full  confidence  in  you,  but  don't 
embroil  us  with  the  police.  We  have  a  good  deal 
to  see  to-day,  I  understand." 

Then  he  heard  the  strenuous  voice  addressing  Cyn- 
thia. 

"  Millicent  Porthcawl  says  that  Glastonbury  is 
heavenly,  and  Wells  a  peaceful  dream.  I  visited 
Cheddar  once,  some  years  ago,  but  it  rained,  and  I 
felt  like  a  watery  cheese." 

Lady  Porthcawl's  commendation  ought  to  have 
sanctified  Glastonbury  and  Wells — Mrs.  Devar's  blue- 
moldy  joke  might  even  have  won  a  smile — but  Cyn- 
thia was  preoccupied;  strange  that  she,  too,  should 
be  musing  of  Simmonds  and  a  hurrying  car,  for 
Medenham  had  told  her  that  the  transfer  would  take 
place  at  Bristol. 

She  was  only  twenty-two,  and  her  very  extensive 
knowledge  of  the  world  had  been  obtained  by  three 
years  of  travel  and  constant  association  with  her 
father.  But  her  lines  had  always  been  cast  in  pleas- 
ant places.  She  had  no  need  to  deny  herself  any 
of  the  delights  that  life  has  to  offer  to  youth  and 
good  health  and  unlimited  means.  The  discovery 
that  friendship  called  for  discretion  came  now  almost 

84 


Shadows — with  Occasional  Gleams 

as  a  shock.  It  seemed  to  be  a  stupid  social  law 
that  barred  the  way  when  she  wished  to  enjoy  the 
company  of  a  well-favored  man  whom  fate  had  placed 
at  her  disposal  for  three  whole  days.  Herself  a  blue- 
blooded  American,  descendant  of  old  Dutch  and  New 
England  families,  she  was  quite  able  to  discriminate 
between  reality  and  sham.  Mrs.  Devar,  she  was  sure, 
was  a  pinchbeck  aristocrat ;  Count  Edouard  Marigny 
might  have  sprung  from  many  generations  of  French 
gentlemen,  but  her  paid  chauffeur  was  his  superior 
in  every  respect  save  one — since,  to  all  appearance, 
Marigny  was  rich  and  Fitzroy  was  poor. 

Curiously  enough,  the  man  whose  alert  shoulders 
and  well-poised  head  were  ever  in  view  as  the  car 
hummed  joyously  through  the  pine  woods  had  taken 
on  something  of  the  mere  mechanic  in  aspect  since 
donning  that  serviceable  linen  coat.  The  garment 
was  weather-stained.  It  bore  records  of  over-lubri- 
cation, of  struggles  with  stiff  outer  covers,  of  rain 
and  mud — that  bird-lime  type  of  mud  peculiar  to 
French  military  roads  in  the  Alpes  Maritimes — while 
a  zealous  detective  might  have  found  traces  of  the 
black  and  greasy  deposit  that  collects  on  the  door 
handles  and  side  rails  of  P.  L.  M.  railway  carriages. 
Medenham  borrowed  it  because  of  the  intolerable  heat 
of  the  leather  jacket.  Its  distinctive  character  be- 
came visible  when  he  viewed  it  in  the  June  sunshine, 
and  he  wore  it  as  a  substitute  for  sackcloth,  since 
he,  no  less  than  Cynthia,  recognized  that  a  dangerous 
acquaintance  was  drawing  to  an  end.  So  Dale's 

85 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

coat  imposed  a  shield,  as  it  were,  between  the  two, 
but  the  man  drove  with  little  heed  to  the  witching 
scenery  that  Dorset  unfolded  at  each  turn  of  the 
road,  and  the  woman  sat  distrait,  almost  downcast. 

Mrs.  Devar  was  smugly  complacent.  Difficulties 
that  loomed  large  overnight  were  now  vague  shadows. 
When  the  Mercury  stopped  in  front  of  a  comfortable 
inn  at  Yeovil  it  was  she,  and  not  Cynthia,  who  sug- 
gested a  social  departure. 

"  This  seems  to  be  the  only  place  in  the  town  where 
luncheon  is  provided.  You  had  better  leave  the  car 
in  charge  of  a  stableman,  and  join  us,  Fitzroy,"  she 
said  graciously. 

'*  Thank  you,  madam,"  said  Medenham,  rousing 
himself  from  a  reverie,  "  I  prefer  to  remain  here. 
The  hotel  people  will  look  after  my  slight  wants,  as 
I  dislike  the  notion  of  anyone  tampering  with  the 
engine  while  I  am  absent." 

"  Is  it  so  delicate,  then  ?  "  asked  Cynthia,  with  a 
smile  that  he  hardly  understood,  since  he  could  not 
know  how  thoroughly  he  had  routed  Mrs.  Devar's 
theories  of  the  previous  night. 

"  No,  far  from  it.  But  its  very  simplicity  chal- 
lenges examination,  and  an  inquisitive  clodhopper 
can  effect  more  damage  in  a  minute  than  I  can  repair 
in  an  hour." 

His  gruff  tone  was  music  in  Mrs.  Devar's  ears. 
She  actually  sighed  her  relief,  but  explained  the  lapse 
instantly. 

"  I  do  hope  there  is  something  nice  to  eat,"  she 

86 


Shadows — with  Occasional  Gleams 

said.  "  This  wonderful  air  makes  one  dreadfully 
hungry.  When  our  tour  is  ended,  Cynthia,  I  shall 
have  to  Bant  for  months." 

The  fare  was  excellent.  Under  its  stimulating 
influence  Miss  Vanrenen  forgot  her  vapors  and  elected 
for  the  front  seat  during  the  run  to  Glastonbury. 
Medenham  thawed,  too.  By  chance  their  talk  turned 
to  wayside  flowers,  and  he  let  the  Mercury  creep 
through  a  high-banked  lane,  all  ablaze  with  wild 
roses  and  honeysuckle,  while  he  pointed  out  the  blue 
field  scabious,  the  pink  and  cream  meadow-sweet,  the 
samphire,  the  milk-wort  and  the  columbine,  the  cam- 
pions in  the  cornland,  and  the  yellow  vetchling  that 
ran  up  the  hillside  towards  one  of  the  wooded 
"  islands  "  peculiar  to  the  center  of  Somerset. 

Cynthia  listened,  and,  if  she  marveled,  betrayed  no 
hint  of  surprise  that  a  chauffeur  should  have  such  a 
store  of  the  woodman's  craft.  Medenham,  aware 
only  of  a  rapt  audience  of  one,  threw  disguise  to 
the  breeze  created  by  the  car  when  the  pace  quick- 
ened. He  told  of  the  Glastonbury  Thorn,  and  how 
it  was  brought  to  the  west  country  by  no  less  a 
gardener  than  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  and  how  St. 
Patrick  was  born  in  the  Isle  of  Avallon,  so  called 
because  its  apple-orchards  bore  golden  fruit,  and 
how  the  very  name  of  Glastonbury  is  derived  from 
the  crystal  water  that  hemmed  the  isle 

"  Please  let  me  intrude  one  little  question,"  mur- 
mured the  girl.  "  I  am  very  ignorant  of  some  things. 
What  has  *  Avallon  '  got  to  do  with  '  apples  '?  " 

87 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

"Ha!"  cried  Medenham,  warming  to  his  subject 
and  retarding  speed  again,  "  that  opens  up  a  wide 
field.  In  Celtic  mythology  Avallon  is  Ynys  yr  Afal- 
lon,  the  Island  of  Apples.  It  is  the  Land  of  the 
Blessed,  where  Morgana  holds  her  court.  Great  heroes 
like  King  Arthur  and  Ogier  le  Dane  were  carried  there 
after  death,  and,  as  apples  were  the  only  first-rate 
fruit  known  to  the  northern  nations,  a  place  where 
they  grew  in  luscious  abundance  came  to  be  regarded 
as  the  soul-kingdom.  Merlin  says  that  fairyland 
is  full  of  apple  trees " 

"  I  believe  it  is,"  cried  Cynthia,  nudging  his  arm 
and  pointing  to  an  orchard  in  full  bloom. 

Mrs.  Devar  could  hear  little  and  understand  less 
of  what  they  were  saying;  but  the  nudge  was  elo- 
quent; her  steel-blue  eyes  narrowed,  and  she  thrust 
her  face  between  them. 

"  We  mustn't  dawdle  on  the  road,  Fitzroy.  Bristol 
is  still  a  long  way  off,  and  we  have  so  much  to  see — 
Glastonbury,  Wells,  Cheddar." 

Though  Cynthia  was  vexed  by  the  interruption  she 
did  not  show  it.  Indeed,  she  was  aware  of  her 
companion's  strange  reiteration  of  the  towns  to  be 
visited,  since  Mrs.  Devar  had  already  admitted  a 
special  weakness  in  geography,  and  during  the  trip 
from  Brighton  to  Bournemouth  was  quite  unable  to 
name  a  town,  a  county,  or  a  landmark.  But  the 
queer  thought  of  a  moment  was  dispelled  by  sight 
of  the  ruins  of  St.  Dunstan's  monastery  appearing 
above  a  low  wall.  In  front  of  the  broken  arches 

88 


Shadows — with  Occasional  Gleams 

and  tottering  walls  grew  some  apple  trees  so  old 
and  worn  that  no  blossom  decked  their  gnarled 
branches.  Unbidden  tears  glistened  in  the  girl's 
eyes. 

"  If  I  lived  here  I  would  plant  a  new  orchard," 
she  said  tremulously.  "  I  think  Guinevere  would  like 
it,  and  you  say  she  is  buried  with  her  king  in  St. 
Joseph's  Chapel." 

Medenham  had  suddenly  grown  stern  again.  He 
glanced  at  her,  and  then  made  great  business  with 
brakes  and  levers,  for  Mrs.  Devar  was  still  inquisi- 
tive. 

"  There  is  a  fine  old  Pilgrims'  Inn,  the  George, 
in  the  main  street,"  he  said  jerkily.  "  I  propose 
to  stop  there;  the  entrance  to  the  Abbey  is  exactly 
opposite.  In  the  George  they  will  show  you  a  room 
in  which  Henry  the  Eighth  slept,  and  I  would  recom- 
mend you  to  get  a  guide  for  half  an  hour  at  least." 

"Must  we  walk?"  demanded  Mrs.  Devar  plain- 
tively. 

"  Yes,  if  you  wish  to  see  anything.  But  one  could 
throw  a  stone  over  the  chief  show  places,  they  are 
so  close  together." 

So  Cynthia  was  shown  the  Alfred  Jewel,  and  Celtic 
dice-boxes  carefully  loaded  for  the  despoiling  of 
Roman  legionaries  or  an  unwary  Phoenician,  and 
heard  the  story  of  the  Holy  Grail  from  the  lips  of 
an  ancient  who  lent  credence  to  the  legend  by  his 
venerable  appearance.  Mixed  up  with  the  imposing 
ruins  and  the  glory  of  St.  Joseph's  Chapel  was  a 

89 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

visit  to  the  butcher's  at  the  corner  of  the  street, 
where  the  veteran  proudly  exhibited  a  duck  with  four 
feet.  He  then  called  Cynthia's  attention  to  the 
carved  panels  of  the  George  Hotel,  and  pointed  out 
a  fine  window,  bayed  on  each  successive  story.  She 
had  almost  forgotten  the  wretched  duck  when  he 
mentioned  a  two-headed  calf  which  was  on  view  at  a 
neighboring  dairy. 

Mrs.  Devar  showed  signs  of  interest,  so  Cynthia 
tipped  the  old  man  hurriedly,  and  ran  to  the  car. 

"  I  shall  come  here — some  other  time,"  she  gasped, 
and  it  thrilled  her  to  believe  that  Fitzroy  understood, 
though  he  had  heard  no  word  of  quadruped  fowl  or 
bicipital  monster. 

At  Wells  Medenham  pitied  her.  He  bribed  a 
policeman  to  guard  the  Mercury,  and  when  Mrs. 
Devar  saw  that  more  walking  was  expected  of  her 
she  elected  to  sit  in  the  tonneau  and  admire  the  west 
front  of  the  cathedral. 

"  Lady  Porthcawl  tells  me  it  is  a  masterpiece," 
she  chirped  shrilly,  "  so  I  want  to  take  it  in  at  my 
leisure." 

Once  more,  therefore,  did  Medenham  allow  himself 
a  half  hour  of  real  abandonment.  He  warned  Cyn- 
thia that  she  must  not  endeavor  to  appreciate  the 
architecture;  with  the  hauteur  of  conscious  genius, 
Wells  refuses  to  allow  anyone  to  absorb  its  true  gran- 
deur until  it  has  been  seen  many  times  and  in  all 
lights. 

So  he  hied  her  to  the  exquisite  Lady  Chapel,  and 

90 


Shadows — with  Occasional  Gleams 

to  the  Chapter-House  Stairs,  and  to  Peter  Light- 
foot's  quaint  old  clock  in  the  transept.  Then,  by 
some  alchemy  worked  on  a  lodgekeeper,  he  led  her 
to  the  gardens  of  the  Bishop's  palace,  and  showed 
her  the  real  Glastonbury  Thorn,  and  even  persuaded 
one  of  the  swans  in  the  moat  to  ring  the  bell 
attached  to  the  wall  whereby  each  morning  for 
many  a  year  the  royal  birds  have  obtained  their 
breakfast. 

There  is  no  lovelier  garden  in  England  than  that 
of  Wells  Palace,  and  Cynthia  was  so  rapt  in  it  that 
even  Medenham  had  to  pull  out  his  watch  and  remind 
her  of  dusty  roads  leading  to  far-off  Bristol. 

Mrs.  Devar  looked  so  sour  when  they  came  from 
an  inspection  of  one  of  the  seven  wells  to  which  the 
town  owes  its  name  that  Cynthia  weakened  and  sat 
by  her  side.  Thereupon  Medenham  made  amends 
for  lost  time  by  exceeding  the  speed  limit  along  every 
inch  of  the  run  to  Cheddar. 

Of  course  he  had  to  crawl  through  the  narrow 
streets  of  the  little  town,  above  which  the  bare  crests 
of  the  Mendips  give  such  slight  promise  of  the 
glorious  gorge  that  cuts  through  their  massiveness 
from  south  to  north.  Even  at  the  very  lip  of  the 
magnificent  canyon  the  outlook  is  deceptive.  Per- 
haps it  is  that  the  eye  is  caught  by  the  flaring  ad- 
vertisements of  the  stalactite  caves,  or  that  baser 
emotions  are  awakened  by  the  sight  of  cozy  tea- 
gardens — of  one  in  particular,  where  a  cascade 
tumbles  headlong  from  the  black  rocks,  and  a  tree- 

91 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

shaded  lawn  offers  rest  and  coolness  after  hours 
passed  in  the  hot  sun. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  "  tea  "  had  a  welcome  sound, 
and  Medenham,  who  had  lunched  on  bread  and  beer 
and  pickles,  was  glad  to  halt  at  the  entrance  of  the 
inn  that  boasted  a  waterfall  in  its  grounds. 

The  road  was  narrow,  and  packed  with  chars-a- 
bancs  awaiting  their  hordes  of  noisy  trippers.  Some 
of  the  men  were  tipsy,  and  Medenham  feared  for  the 
Mercury's  paint.  To  the  left  of  the  hotel  lay  a 
spacious  yard  that  looked  inviting.  He  backed  in 
there  when  the  ladies  had  alighted,  and  ran  along- 
side an  automobile  on  which  "  Paris  "  and  "  speed  " 
were  written  in  characters  legible  to  the  motorist. 

A  chauffeur  was  lounging  against  the  stable  wall 
and  smoking. 

"  Hello,"  said  Medenham  affably,  "  what  sort  of 
car  is  that?  " 

"A  59  Du  Vallon,"  was  the  answer.  Then  the 
man's  face  lit  up  with  curiosity. 

"  Yours  is  a  New  Mercury,  isn't  it?  "  he  cried. 
"  Was  that  car  at  Brighton  on  Wednesday  night?  " 

"  Yes,"  growled  Medenham ;  he  knew  what  to  ex- 
pect, and  his  face  was  grim  beneath  the  tan. 

"  But  you  were  not  driving  it,"  said  the  other. 

"  A  chap  named  Dale  was  in  charge  then." 

"  Oh,  is  that  it?  You've  brought  two  ladies  here 
just  now?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Good !      My  guv'nor's  on  the  lookout  for  'em. 

92 


Shadows — with  Occasional  Gleams 

He  didn't  tell  me  so,  but  he  made  sure  they  hadn't 
passed  this  way  when  we  turned  up." 

"  And  when  was  that?  "  asked  Medenham,  feeling 
unaccountably  sick  at  heart. 

"  Soon  after  lunch.  Ran  here  from  Bristol. 
There's  a  bad  bit  of  road  over  the  Mendips,  but 
the  rest  is  fine.  I  s'pose  we'll  all  be  hiking  back  there 
to-night?  " 

"  Most  probably,"  agreed  Medenham,  who  said 
least  when  he  was  most  disturbed;  at  that  moment 
he  could  cheerfully  have  wrung  Count  Edouard 
Marigny's  neck. 


CHAPTER  V 

A    FLURBY    ON    THE    MENDIPS 

IT  is  a  contrariety  of  human  nature  that  men  de- 
voted to  venturesome  forms  of  sport  should  often 
be  tender-hearted  as  children.  Lord  Medenham,  who 
had  done  some  slaying  in  his  time,  once  risked  his 
life  to  save  a  favorite  horse  from  a  Ganges  quicksand, 
and  his  right  arm  still  bore  the  furrows  plowed  in 
it  by  claws  that  would  have  torn  his  spaniel  to  pieces 
in  a  Kashmir  gully  had  he  not  thrust  the  empty 
barrels  of  a  .450  Express  rifle  down  the  throat  of  an 
enraged  bear.  In  each  case,  a  moment's  delay  to 
secure  his  own  safety  meant  the  sacrifice  of  a  friend, 
but  safety  won  at  such  a  price  would  have  galled  him 
worse  than  the  spinning  of  a  coin  with  death. 

Wholly  apart  from  considerations  that  he  was 
strangely  unwilling  to  acknowledge,  even  to  his  own 
heart,  he  now  resented  Marigny's  cold-blooded  pur- 
suit of  an  unsuspecting  girl  mainly  because  of  its 
unfairness.  Were  Cynthia  Vanrenen  no  more  to 
him  than  the  hundreds  of  pretty  women  he  would 
meet  during  a  brief  London  season  he  would  still 
have  wished  to  rescue  her  from  the  money-hunting 

94> 


A  Flurry  on  the  Mendips 

gang  which  had  marked  her  down  as  an  easy  prey. 
But  he  had  been  vouchsafed  glimpses  into  her  white 
soul.  That  night  at  Brighton,  and  again  to-day 
in  the  cloistered  depths  of  the  cathedral  at  Wells, 
she  had  admitted  him  to  the  rare  intimacy  of  those 
who  commune  deeply  in  silence. 

It  was  not  that  he  dared  yet  to  think  of  a  love 
confessed  and  reciprocated.  The  prince  in  disguise 
is  all  very  well  in  a  fairy  tale;  in  England  of  the 
twentieth  century  he  is  an  anachronism;  and  Meden- 
ham  would  as  soon  think  of  shearing  a  limb  as  of 
profiting  by  the  chance  that  threw  Cynthia  in  his 
way.  Of  course,  a  less  scrupulous  wooer  might  have 
devised  a  hundred  plausible  methods  of  revealing  his 
identity — was  not  Mrs.  Devar,  marriage-broker  and 
adroit  sycophant,  ready  to  hand  and  purchasable? 
— and  there  was  small  room  for  doubt  that  a  girl's 
natural  vanity  would  be  fluttered  into  a  blaze  of  ro- 
mance by  learning  that  her  chauffeur  was  heir  to  an 
old  and  well-endowed  peerage.  But  honor  forbade, 
nor  might  he  dream  of  winning  her  affections  while 
flying  false  colors.  True,  it  would  not  be  his  fault 
if  they  did  not  come  together  again  in  the  near  future. 
He  meant  to  forestall  any  breach  of  confidence  on 
the  part  of  Simmonds  by  writing  a  full  explanation 
of  events  to  Cynthia  herself.  If  his  harmless  esca- 
pade were  presented  in  its  proper  light,  their  next 
meeting  should  be  fraught  with  laughter  rather  than 
reproaches ;  and  then — well,  then,  he  might  urge  a 
timid  plea  that  his  repute  as  a  careful  pilot  during 

95 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

those  three  memorable  days  was  no  bad  recommenda- 
tion for  a  permanency! 

But  now,  in  a  flash,  the  entire  perspective  had 
changed.  The  Frenchman  and  Mrs.  Devar,  between 
them,  threatened  to  upset  his  best-laid  plans.  It 
was  one  thing  to  guess  the  nature  of  the  sordid  com- 
pact revealed  at  Brighton;  it  was  quite  another  to 
be  brought  face  to  face  with  its  active  development 
at  Cheddar.  The  intervening  hours  had  disintegrated 
all  his  pet  theories.  In  a  word,  the  difference  lay 
in  himself — before  and  after  close  companionship 
with  Cynthia. 

It  must  not  be  imagined  that  Medenham  indulged 
in  this  species  of  self-analysis  while  fetching  a  pail 
of  water  to  replace  the  wastage  from  the  condenser. 
He  was  merely  in  a  very  bad  temper,  and  could  not 
trust  himself  to  speak  until  he  had  tended  to  his  be- 
loved engine. 

He  determined  to  set  doubt  at  rest  forthwith  by 
the  simple  expedient  of  finding  Miss  Vanrenen,  and 
seeing  whether  or  not  Marigny  had  waylaid  her 
already. 

"  Keep  an  eye  on  my  machine  for  a  minute,"  he 
said  to  the  guardian  of  the  Du  Vallon.  "  By  the 
way,  is  Captain  Devar  here?"  he  added,  since  Devar's 
presence  might  affect  his  own  actions. 

"  Oh,  you  know  him,  do  you  ?  "  cried  the  other. 
**  No,  he  didn't  come  with  us.  We  left  him  at  Bristol. 
He's  a  bird,  the  captain.  Played  some  johnny  at 
billiards  last  night  for  a  quid,  and  won.  He  told 

96 


A  Flurry  on  the  Mendxps 

the  guv'nor  this  morning  that  there  is  another  game 
fixed  for  to-day,  and  you  ought  to  have  seen  him 
wink.  It's  long  odds  again'  the  Bristol  gent,  or 
I'm  very  much  mistaken.  Yes,  I'll  keep  any  amatoor 
paws  off  your  car,  and  off  my  own  as  well,  you 
bet." 

To  pass  from  the  stable  yard  to  the  garden  it 
was  not  necessary  to  enter  the  hotel.  A  short  path, 
shaded  by  trellis-laden  creepers  and  climbing  roses, 
led  to  a  rustic  bridge  over  the  stream.  When  Meden- 
ham  had  gone  halfway  he  saw  the  two  women  sitting 
with  Marigny  at  a  table  placed  well  apart  from 
other  groups  of  tea-drinkers.  They  were  talking 
animatedly,  the  Count  smiling  and  profuse  of  ges- 
ture, while  Cynthia  listened  with  interest  to  what  was 
seemingly  a  convincing  statement  of  the  fortunate 
hazard  that  led  to  his  appearance  at  Cheddar.  The 
Frenchman  was  too  skilled  a  stalker  of  shy  game 
to  pretend  a  second  time  that  the  meeting  was  acci- 
dental. 

Mrs.  Devar's  shrill  accents  traveled  clearly  across 
the  lawn. 

"  Just  fancy  that  .  .  .  finding  James  at  Bath, 
and  persuading  him  to  come  to  Bristol  on  the  chance 
that  we  might  all  dine  together  to-night !  Naughty 
boy  he  is — why  didn't  he  run  out  here  in  your 
car?  " 

Count  Edouard  said  something. 

"  Business ! "  she  cackled,  "  I  am  glad  to  hear  of 
it.  James  is  too  much  of  a  gad-about  to  earn  money, 

97 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

but  people  are  always  asking  him  to  their  houses. 
He  is  a  dear  fellow.  I  am  sure  you  will  like  him, 
Cynthia." 

Medenham  had  heard  enough.  He  noted  that  the 
table  was  gay  with  cut  flowers,  and  a  neat  waitress 
had  evidently  been  detailed  by  the  management  to 
look  after  these  distinguished  guests ;  Marigny's  stage 
setting  for  his  first  decisive  move  was  undoubtedly 
well  contrived.  It  was  delightfully  pastoral — a 
charming  bit  of  rural  England — and,  as  such, 
eminently  calculated  to  impress  an  American 
visitor. 

Cynthia  poured  out  a  cup  of  tea,  heaped  a  plate 
with  cakes  and  bread  and  butter,  and  gave  some  in- 
structions to  the  waitress.  Medenham  knew  what 
that  meant.  He  hurried  back  by  the  way  he  had  come, 
and  found  that  Marigny's  chauffeur  had  lifted  the 
bonnet  off  the  Mercury. 

"  More  I  see  of  this  engine  the  more  I  like  it — 
What's  your  h.p.  ?  "  asked  the  man,  who  clearly  re- 
garded the  Mercury's  driver  as  a  brother  in  the 
craft. 

"  38." 

"  Looks  a  sixty,  every  inch.  I  wonder  if  you 
could  hold  my  car  at  Brooklands?  " 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  I  may  give  you  some  dust  to 
swallow  over  the  Mendips." 

The  chauffeur  grinned. 

"  Of  course  you'd  say  that,  but  it  all  depends  on 
what  the  guv'nor  means  to  do.  He's  a  dare-devil 

98 


A  Flurry  on  the  Mendips 

at  the  wheel,  I  can  tell  you,  an'  never  says  a  word 
to  me  when  I  let  things  rip.  But  he's  up  to  some 
game  to-day.  He's  fair  crazy  about  that  girl  you 
have  in  tow — what's  her  name?  Vanrenen,  isn't 
it?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Medenham,  replacing  the  hood  after 
a  critical  glance  at  the  wires,  though  he  hardly 
thought  that  this  sturdy  mechanic  would  play  any 
tricks  on  him. 

"  Which  of  you  men  is  called  Fitzroy  ?  "  demanded 
a  serving-maid,  carrying  a  tray. 

"  I,"  said  Medenham. 

"  Here,  Miss,"  broke  in  the  other,  "  my  name's 
Smith,  plain  Smith,  but  I  can  do  with  a  sup  o'  tea 
as  well  as  anybody." 

"  Ask  Miss  Vanrenen  to  give  you  another  cup  for 
Count  Marigny's  chauffeur,"  said  Medenham  to  the 
girl. 

"  Oh,  he's  a  count,  is  he?  "  said  the  waitress  saucily. 
"  My,  isn't  he  mashed  on  the  young  one  ?  " 

"Who  wouldn't  be?"  declared  Smith.  "She's 
the  sort  of  girl  a  fellow  'ud  leave  home  for." 

"  Fine  feathers  go  a  long  way.  There's  as  good 
as  her  in  the  world,"  came  the  retort,  not  without 
a  favorable  glance  at  Medenham. 

"  Meanwhile  the  tea  is  getting  cold,"  said  he. 

"  Dear  me,  you  needn't  hurry.  Her  ma  is  goin* 
to  write  half-a-dozen  picture  postcards.  But  what 
a  voice!  The  old  girl  drowns  the  waterfall." 

The  waitress  flounced  off.      She  was  pretty,  and 

99 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

no  wandering  chauffeur  had  ever  before  turned  aside 
the  arrows  of  her  bright  eyes  so  heedlessly. 

"Then  you  have  seen  Miss  Vanrenen?"  inquired 
Medenham,  sipping  his  tea. 

"  Ra-ther !  "  said  Smith.  "  Saw  her  in  Paris,  at  the 
Ritz,  when  my  people  sent  me  over  there  to  learn  the 
mechanism  of  this  car.  The  Count  was  always  hang- 
ing about,  and  I  thought  he  wanted  the  old  man  to 
buy  a  Du  Vallon,  but  it's  all  Lombard  Street  to  a 
china  orange  that  he  was  after  the  daughter  the 
whole  time.  I  don't  blame  him.  She's  a  regular 
daisy.  But  you  ought  to  know  best.  How  do  you 
get  on  with  her?  " 

"  Capitally." 

"Why  did  Dale  and  you  swop  jobs?  " 

"  Oh,  a  mere  matter  of  arrangement,"  said  Meden- 
ham, who  realized  that  Smith  would  blurt  out  every 
item  of  information  that  he  possessed  if  allowed  to 
talk. 

"  He's  a  corker,  is  Dale,"  mused  the  other.  "  I 
can  do  with  a  pint  or  two  meself  when  the  day's  work 
is  finished  an'  the  car  safely  locked  up  for  the  night. 
But  that  Dale!  he's  a  walkin'  beer-barrel.  Lord 
love  a  duck!  what  a  soakin'  he  gev'  me  in  Brighton. 
Some  lah-di-dah  toff  swaggered  into  the  garage  that 
evenin',  and  handed  Dale  a  fiver — five  golden  quidlets, 
if  you  please — which  my  nibs  had  won  on  a  horse  at 
Epsom.  I  must  say,  though,  Dale  did  the  thing 
handsome — quart  bottles  o'  Bass  opened  every  ten 
minutes.  Thank  you,  my  dear" — this  to  the  wait- 

100 


A  Flurry  on  the  Mendips 

ress,  "  next  to  beer  give  me  tea.  Now,  my  boss, 
bein'  a  Frenchy,  won't  touch  eether — wine  an'  corfee 
are  his  specials." 

"  He  seemed  to  be  enjoying  his  tea  when  I  caught 
sight  of  him  in  the  garden  a  little  while  ago,"  said 
Medenham. 

"  That's  his  artfulness,  my  boy.  You  wait  a  bit. 
You'll  see  something  before  you  reach  Bristol  to- 
night ;  anyway,  you'll  hear  something,  which  amounts 
to  pretty  much  the  same  in  the  end." 

"  They're  just  off  to  the  caves,"  put  in  the  girl. 

"  While  Mrs.  Devar  writes  her  postcards,  I  sup- 
pose? "  said  Medenham  innocently. 

"What!  Is  that  the  old  party  with  the  hair? 
I  thought  she  was  the  young  lady's  mother.  She's 
gone  with  them.  She  looks  that  sort  of  meddler — 
not  half.  Two's  company  an'  three's  none  is  my 
motto,  cave  or  no  cave." 

She  tried  her  most  bewitching  smile  on  Medenham 
this  time.  It  was  a  novel  experience  to  be  the 
recipient  of  a  serving-maid's  marked  favor,  and  it 
embarrassed  him.  Smith,  his  mouth  full  of  currant 
bun,  spluttered  with  laughter. 

"  A  fair  offer,"  he  cried.  "  You  two  dodge  out- 
side and  see  which  cave  the  aristocracy  chooses.  Then 
you  can  take  a  turn  round  the  other  one.  I'll  watch 
the  cars  all  right." 

The  girl  suddenly  blushed  and  looked  demure.  A 
sweet  voice  said  quietly: 

"  We  shall  remain  here  half  an  hour  or  more,  Fitz- 

101 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

roy.  I  thought  I  would  tell  you  in  case  you  wished 
to  smoke — or  occupy  your  time  in  any  other 
way." 

The  pause  was  eloquent:  Cynthia  had  heard. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Vanrenen,"  he  said,  affecting 
to  glance  at  his  watch. 

He  felt  thoroughly  nonplussed.  She  would  surely 
think  he  had  been  flirting  with  this  rosy-cheeked 
servant,  and  he  might  never  have  an  opportunity  of 
telling  her  that  his  sole  reason  for  encouraging  the 
conversation  lay  in  his  anxiety  to  learn  as  much  as 
possible  about  Marigny  and  his  associates. 

"  My,  ain't  she  smart !  "  said  the  girl  when  Cyn- 
thia had  gone. 

Medenham  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  gave  her 
half-a-crown. 

"  They  have  forgotten  to  tip  you,  Gertie,"  he  said. 
Without  heeding  a  stare  of  astonishment  strongly 
tinctured  with  indignation,  he  stooped  in  unnecessary 
scrutiny  of  the  Mercury's  tires.  The  minx  tossed 
her  head. 

"  Some  folks  are  as  grand  as  their  missuses,"  she 
remarked,  and  went  back  to  her  garden. 

But  Smith  looked  puzzled.  Medenham,  no  good 
actor  at  any  time,  had  dropped  too  quickly  the  air 
of  camaraderie  which  had  been  a  successful  passport 
hitherto.  His  voice,  his  manner,  the  courtly  inso- 
lence of  the  maid's  dismissal,  evoked  vague  memories 
in  Smith's  mind.  The  square-shouldered,  soldierly 
figure  did  not  quite  fit  into  the  picture,  but  he  seemed 

102 


''You  may  occuy  your  time  m  any  way  you  wish,  Fitzroy," 

said  Cynthia.  Pafe  j0j 


A  Flurry  on  the  Mendips 

to  hear  that  same  authoritative  voice  speaking  to 
Dale  in  the  Brighton  garage. 

The  conceit  was  absurd,  of  course.  Chauffeurs 
do  not  swagger  through  the  world  dressing  for  din- 
ner each  night  and  distributing  gold  in  their  leisure 
moments.  But  Smith's  bump  of  inquisitiveness  was 
well  developed,  as  the  phrenologists  say,  and  he  was 
already  impressed  by  the  fact  that  no  firm  could 
afford  to  send  out  for  hire  a  car  like  Medenham's. 

"  Funny  thing,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I  seem  to  have 
met  you  somewhere  or  other.  Who  do  you  work 
for?  " 

"  Myself." 

Medenham  caught  the  note  of  bewilderment,  and 
was  warned.  He  straightened  himself  with  a  smile, 
though  it  cost  him  an  effort  to  look  cheerful. 

"  Have  a  cigarette  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Don't  mind  if  I  do.  Thanks."  Then,  after  a 
pause,  and  some  puffing  and  tasting:  "Sorry,  old 
man,  but  this  baccy  ain't  my  sort.  It  tastes  queer. 
What  is  it?  Flor  de  Cabbagio?  Here,  take  one 
of  mine!  " 

Medenham,  in  chastened  mood,  accepted  a  "  five  a 
penny  "  cigarette,  and  saw  Smith  throw  away  the 
exquisite  brand  that  Sevastopolo,  of  Bond  Street, 
supplied  to  those  customers  only  who  knew  the  price 
paid  by  connoisseurs  for  the  leaf  grown  on  one  small 
hillside  above  the  sun-steeped  bay  of  Salonika. 

"  Yes,"  he  agreed,  bravely  poisoning  the  helpless 
atmosphere,  "  this  is  better  suited  to  the  occasion." 

103 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

"  A  bit  of  all  right,  eh?  I  can't  stand  the  Count's 
cigarettes  eether — French  rubbish,  you  know.  An' 
the  money  they  run  into — well,  there !  " 

"  But  if  he  is  a  rich  man " 

"  Rich !  "  Smith  exploded  with  merriment.  "  If 
he  had  what  he  owes  he  might  worry  along  for  a 
year  or  so,  but,  you  mark  my  words,  if  he  doesn't — 
Well,  it's  no  business  of  mine,  only  just  keep  your 
eyes  open.  You're  going  through  with  this  tour?  " 

"  I — believe  so,"  said  Medenham  slowly — and  thus 
he  took  the  great  resolution  which  till  that  moment 
was  dim  in  his  mind. 

"  In  that  case  we'll  be  having  a  jaw  some  other 
time,  and  then,  mebbe,  we'll  both  be  older  an'  wiser." 

Notwithstanding  the  community  of  taste  estab- 
lished by  Smith's  weeds,  the  man  was  still  furtively 
racking  his  brains  to  account  for  certain  discrepan- 
cies in  his  new  acquaintance's  bearing  and  address. 
Medenham's  hands,  for  instance,  were  too  well  kept. 
His  boots  were  of  too  good  a  quality.  His  reindeer 
driving  gloves,  discarded  and  lying  on  the  front  seat, 
were  far  too  costly.  The  disreputable  linen  coat 
might  hide  many  details,  but  not  these.  Every  now 
and  then  Smith  wanted  to  say  "  sir,"  and  he  won- 
dered why. 

Medenham  was  sure  that  at  the  back  of  Smith's 
head  lay  some  scheme,  some  arranged  trick,  some  arti- 
fice of  intrigue  that  would  find  its  opportunity  be- 
tween Cheddar  and  Bristol.  The  distance  was  not 
great — perhaps  eighteen  miles — by  a  fairly  direct 

104- 


A  Flurry  on  the  Mendips 

second-class  road,  and  on  this  fine  June  evening  it 
was  still  safe  to  count  on  three  long  hours  of  day- 
light. It  was  doubly  irritating,  therefore,  to  think 
that  by  his  own  lack  of  diplomacy  he  had  almost 
forfeited  Smith's  confidence.  Twice  had  the  man 
been  on  the  very  brink  of  revelation,  for  he  was  one 
of  those  happy-go-lucky  beings  not  fitted  for  the  safe- 
guarding of  secrets,  yet  on  each  occasion  his  tongue 
faltered  in  subconscious  knowledge  that  he  was  about 
to  betray  his  master's  affairs. 

Feeling  that  Dale  would  have  managed  this  part 
of  the  day's  adventures  far  better  than  himself, 
Medenham  took  his  seat  and  touched  the  switch. 

"  We  have  to  make  Bristol  by  seven  o'clock,  so 
I  shall  pull  out  in  front;  I  suppose  Count  Marigny 
will  give  the  ladies  the  road? "  he  remarked 
casually. 

Smith  was  listening  to  the  engine. 

"  Runs  like  a  watch,  don't  it  ?  "  was  his  admiring 
cry. 

"  And  almost  as  quietly,  so  you  heard  what  I 
said." 

"  Oh,  I  hear  lots,  but  I  reckon  it  a  good  plan  ta 
keep  my  mouth  shut,"  grinned  the  other. 

"  Exactly  what  you  have  failed  to  do,"  thought 
Medenham,  though  he  nodded  pleasantly,  and,  with 
a  "  So  long !  "  passed  out  of  the  yard.  Smith  went 
to  the  exit  and  looked  after  him.  The  man's  face 
wore  a  good-humored  sneer.  It  was  as  though  he 
said: 

105 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

"You  wait  a  bit,  my  dandy  shuffer — you  ain't 
through  with  his  Countship  yet — not  by  any  manner 
o'  means." 

And  Medenham  did  wait,  till  nearly  seven  o'clock. 
He  saw  Cynthia  and  her  companions  come  out  of 
Gough's  Cave  and  enter  Cox's.  These  fairy  grottoes 
of  nature's  own  contriving  were  well  worthy  of  close 
inspection,  he  knew.  Nowhere  else  in  the  world  can 
stalactites  that  droop  from  the  roof,  stalagmites  that 
spring  from  the  floor,  be  seen  in  such  perfection  of 
form  and  tint.  But  he  fretted  and  fumed  because 
Cynthia  was  immured  too  long  in  their  ice-cold  re- 
cesses, and  when,  at  last,  she  reappeared  from  the 
second  cavern  and  halted  near  a  stall  to  purchase 
some  curios,  impatience  mastered  him,  and  he  brought 
the  car  slowly  on  until  she  turned  and  looked  at 
him. 

He  raised  his  cap. 

"  The  gorge  is  the  finest  thing  in  Cheddar,  Miss 
Yanrenen,"  he  said.  "  You  ought  to  see  it  while 
the  light  is  strong." 

"  We  are  going  now,"  she  answered  coldly.  "  Mon- 
sieur Marigny  will  take  me  to  Bristol,  and  you  will 
follow  with  Mrs.  Devar." 

He  did  not  flinch  from  her  steadfast  gaze,  though 
those  blue  eyes  of  hers  seemed  definitely  to  forbid  any 
expression  of  opinion.  Yet  there  was  a  challenge  in 
them,  too,  and  he  accepted  it  meekly. 

"  I  was  hoping  that  I  might  have  the  pleasure  of 
driving  you  this  evening,"  he  said.  "  The  run 

106 


A  Flurry  on  the  Mendips 

through  the  pass  is  very  interesting,  and  I  know 
every  inch  of  it." 

He  fancied  that  she  was  conscious  of  some  mistake, 
and  eager  to  atone  if  in  the  wrong. 

She  hesitated,  yielded  almost,  but  Mrs.  Devar  broke 
in  angrily: 

"  We  have  decided  differently,  Fitzroy.  I  have 
some  few  postcards  to  dispatch,  and  Count  Marigny 
has  kindly  promised  to  run  slowly  up  the  hill  until 
we  overtake  him." 

"  Yes,  you  ought  to  have  waited  in  the  yard  of 
the  inn  for  orders,"  said  the  ever-smiling  Marigny. 
"  My  car  can  hardly  pass  yours  in  this  narrow  road. 
Back  a  bit  to  one  side,  there's  a  good  fellow,  and, 
when  we  have  gone,  pull  up  to  the  door.  Come,  Miss 
Vanrenen.  I  am  fierce  to  show  you  the  paces  of  a 
Du  Vallon." 

The  concluding  sentences  were  in  French ,  but 
Count  Edouard  spoke  idiomatic  English  fluently  and 
with  a  rather  fascinating  accent. 

Cynthia,  slightly  ruffled  by  her  own  singular  lack 
of  purpose,  made  no  further  demur.  The  three 
walked  off  down  the  hill,  and  Medenham  could  only 
obey  in  a  chill  rage  that,  were  Marigny  able  to  gauge 
its  intensity,  might  have  given  him  "  furiously  to 
think." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  Du  Vallon  scurried  by.  Smith 
was  driving,  and  there  was  a  curious  smirk  on  his 
red  face  as  he  glanced  at  Medenham.  Cynthia  sat 
in  the  tonneau  with  the  Frenchman,  who  drew  her 

107 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

attention  to  the  limestone  cliffs  in  such  wise  that  she 
did  not  even  see  the  Mercury  as  she  passed. 

Medenham  muttered  something  under  his  breath, 
and  reversed  slowly  back  to  the  inn.  He  consulted 
his  watch. 

"  I'll  give  the  postcard  writer  ten  minutes — then  I 
shall  jar  her  nerves  badly,"  he  promised  himself. 

Those  minutes  were  slow-footed,  but  at  last  he 
closed  the  watch  with  a  snap.  He  called  to  a  waitress 
visible  at  the  end  of  a  long  passage.  The  girl  hap- 
pened to  be  his  friend  of  tea-time. 

"  Would  you  like  to  earn  another  half  crown  ?  " 
he  asked. 

She  had  wit  enough  to  grasp  essentials,  and  it 
was  abundantly  clear  that  this  man  was  not  her  lawful 
quarry. 

"  Yes — sir,"  she  said. 

"  Take  it,  then,  and  tell  the  elderly  lady  belonging 
to  my  party — she  is  somewhere  inside — that  Fitzroy 
says  he  cannot  wait  any  longer.  Use  those  exact 
words — and  be  quick !  " 

The  girl  vanished.  An  irate  yet  dignified  Mrs. 
Devar  came  out. 

"  Do  I  understand "  she  began  wrathfully. 

"  I  hope  so,  madam.  Unless  you  get  in  at  once 
I  intend  going  to  Bristol,  or  elsewhere,  without  you." 

"  Or  elsewhere?  "  she  gasped,  though  some  of  her 
high  color  fled  under  his  cold  glance. 

"  Precisely.  I  do  not  intend  to  abandon  Miss 
Vanrenen." 

108 


A  Flurry  on  the  Mendips 

"  How  dare  you  speak  to  me  in  this  manner,  you 
vulgar  person  ?  " 

For  answer  Medenham  set  the  engine  going. 

"  I  said  *  At  once,'  "  he  replied,  and  looked  Mrs. 
Devar  squarely  in  the  eyes. 

She  had  her  fair  share  of  that  wisdom  of  the 
serpent  which  is  indispensable  to  evildoers,  and  had 
learnt  early  in  life  that  whereas  many  men  say  they 
will  do  that  which  they  really  will  not  do  if  put  to 
the  test,  other  men,  rare  but  dominant,  can  be  trusted 
to  make  good  their  words  no  matter  what  the  cost. 
So  she  accepted  the  unavoidable;  quivering  with  in- 
dignation, she  entered  the  car. 

"  Drive  me  to  the  Post-office,"  she  said,  with  as 
much  of  acid  repose  as  she  could  muster  to  her  aid. 

Medenham  seemed  to  be  suddenly  afflicted  with 
deafness.  After  negotiating  a  line  of  vehicles,  the 
Mercury  leaped  past  the  caves  of  Gough  and  Cox 
as  though  the  drip  of  lime-laden  water  within  those 
amazing  depths  were  reeling  off  centuries  in  a  frenzy 
of  haste  instead  of  measuring  time  so  slowly  that  no 
appreciable  change  has  been  noted  in  the  tiniest 
stalactite  during  fifty  years.  Mrs.  Devar  then  grew 
genuinely  alarmed,  since  even  a  designing  woman  may 
be  a  timid  one.  She  bore  with  the  pace  until  the  car 
seemed  to  be  on  the  verge  of  rushing  full  tilt  against 
a  jutting  rock.  She  could  endure  the  strain  no 
longer,  but  stood  up  and  screamed. 

Medenham  slackened  speed.  When  the  curving 
road  opened  sufficiently  to  show  a  clear  furlong 

109 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

ahead,  he  turned  and  spoke  to  the  limp,  shrieking 
creature  clinging  to  the  back  of  his  seat. 

"  You  are  not  in  the  slightest  danger,"  he  assured 
her,  "  but  if  you  wish  it  I  will  drop  you  here.  The 
village  is  barely  half  a  mile  away.  Otherwise,  should 
you  decide  to  remain,  you  must  put  up  with  a  rapid 
speed." 

"  But  why,  why?  "  she  almost  wailed.  "  Have  you 
gone  mad,  to  drive  like  that  ?  " 

"  Again  I  pledge  my  word  that  there  is  no  risk. 
I  mean  to  overtake  Miss  Vanrenen  before  the  light 
fails— that  is  all." 

"  Your  conduct  is  positively  outrageous,"  she 
gasped. 

"  Please  yourself,  madam.      Do  you  go,  or  stay  ?  " 

She  collapsed  into  the  comfortable  upholstery  with 
a  gesture  of  impotent  despair.  Medenham  was  sure 
she  would  not  dare  to  leave  him.  What  wretched 
project  she  and  Marigny  had  concocted  he  knew  not, 
but  its  successful  outcome  evidently  depended  on  Mrs. 
Devar's  safe  arrival  in  Bristol.  Moreover,  it  was 
a  paramount  condition  that  he  should  be  delayed  at 
Cheddar,  and  his  chief  interest  lay  in  defeating  that 
part  of  the  programme.  Without  another  word,  he 
released  the  brakes,  and  the  car  sped  onward. 

Now  they  were  plunging  into  a  magnificent  defile 
shadowed  by  sheer  cliffs  that  on  the  eastern  side  rose 
to  a  height  of  five  hundred  feet.  Fluttering  rock 
pigeons  circled  far  up  in  the  azure  riband  that 
spanned  the  opposing  precipices.  From  many  a 

110 


A  Flurry  on  the  Mendips 

towering  pinnacle,  carved  by  the  ages  into  fantastic 
imageries  of  a  castle,  a  pulpit,  a  lion,  or  a  lance, 
came  the  loud,  clear  calling  of  innumerable  jack- 
daws. It  was  dark  and  gloomy,  most  terrifying 
to  Mrs.  Devar,  down  there  on  the  twining  road  where 
the  car  boomed  ever  on  like  some  relentless  monster 
rushing  from  its  lair.  But  the  Cheddar  gorge, 
though  majestic  and  awe-inspiring,  is  not  of  great 
extent.  Soon  the  valley  widened,  the  road  took 
longer  sweeps  to  round  each  frowning  buttress,  and 
at  last  emerged,  with  a  quality  of  inanimate  breath- 
lessness,  on  to  the  bleak  and  desolate  tableland  of 
the  Mendips. 

At  this  point,  had  Cynthia  been  there,  Medenham 
would  have  stopped  for  a  while,  so  that  she  might 
admire  the  far-flung  panorama  of  the  "  island  valley 
of  Avallon  "  that  stretched  below  the  ravine.  Out 
of  the  green  pastures  in  the  middle  distance  rose  the 
ruined  towers  of  Glastonbury.  The  purple  and  gold 
of  Sedgemoor,  relieved  by  the  soft  outlines  of  the 
Polden  hills,  the  grim  summits  of  Taunton  Dean  and 
the  Blackdown  range,  the  wooded  Quantocks  dipping 
to  the  Severn,  and  the  giant  mass  of  Exmoor  bound- 
ing the  far  horizon, — these  great  splashes  of  color, 
softened  and  blended  by  belts  of  farmland  and  the 
blue  smoke  of  clustering  hamlets,  formed  a  picture 
that  not  even  Britain's  storehouse  of  natural  beauty 
can  match  too  often  to  sate  the  eyes  of  those  who 
love  a  charming  landscape. 

He  had,  as  it  were,  jealously  guarded  this  vista  all 

111 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

day,  said  not  a  word  of  it,  even  when  Cynthia  and 
he  discussed  the  route,  so  that  it  might  come  at  last 
in  one  supreme  moment  of  revelation.  And  now 
that  it  was  here,  Cynthia  was  hidden  somewhere  in 
the  gray  distance,  and  Medenham  was  frowning  at 
a  flying  strip  of  white  road,  with  his  every  faculty 
intent  on  exacting  the  last  ounce  of  power  from 
the  superb  machine  he  controlled. 

The  miles  rolled  beneath,  yet  there  was  no  token 
of  the  Du  Vallon  that  was  to  "  run  slowly  up  the 
hill "  until  overtaken  by  the  industrious  writer  of 
postcards.  At  the  utmost,  the  French  car  was  given 
some  twelve  or  thirteen  minutes'  start,  which  meant 
seven  or  eight  miles  to  a  high-powered  automobile 
urged  forward  with  the  determination  Medenham  him- 
self was  displaying.  Marigny's  chauffeur,  therefore, 
must  have  dashed  through  that  Titanic  cleft  in  the 
limestone  at  a  speed  utterly  incompatible  with  his 
employer's  excuse  of  sightseeing.  Of  course,  it 
would  be  an  easy  matter  for  Marigny  to  enlist  Miss 
Vanrenen's  sympathies  in  the  effort  of  a  first-rate 
engine  to  conquer  the  adverse  gradient.  She  would 
hardly  realize  the  rate  of  progress,  and,  from  where 
she  was  seated,  the  speed  indicator  would  be  invisible 
unless  she  leaned  forward  for  the  express  purpose 
of  reading  it.  Medenham  was  sure  that  the  Mercury 
would  catch  the  Du  Vallon  long  before  Bristol  was 
reached,  but  when  the  last  ample  fold  of  the  bleak 
plateau  spread  itself  in  front,  and  his  hunter's  eyes 
could  discern  no  cloud  of  dust  lingering  in  the  still 

112 


A  Flurry  on  the  Mendips 

air  where  the  road  dipped  over  the  horizon,  he  began 
to  doubt,  to  question,  to  solve  grotesque  problems 
that  were  discarded  ere  they  had  well  taken  shape. 

Oddly  enough,  there  came  no  more  expostulation 
from  Mrs.  Devar.  Like  the  majority  of  nervous 
people,  she  was  quelled  by  the  need  of  placing  com- 
plete trust  in  one  who  understood  his  work.  While 
Medenham  was  still  searching  the  sky-line  for  signs 
of  the  vanished  car,  she  did  show  some  interest  in 
his  quest.  He  felt,  since  he  could  not  see,  that  she 
half  rose  and  looked  over  his  head,  bent  low  behind 
the  partial  shelter  afforded  by  a  glass  screen.  Then 
she  settled  back  in  the  seat,  and  drew  a  rug  com- 
fortably around  her  knees.  For  some  reason,  she 
was  strangely  content. 

The  incident  supplied  food  for  active  thought.  So 
she  felt  safe!  That  which  she  dreaded  as  the  result 
of  a  too  strenuous  pursuit  could  not  now  happen! 
Then  what  was  it?  Medenham  swept  aside  the  fan- 
tasy that  Mrs.  Devar  knew  the  country  well  enough 
to  be  able  to  say  precisely  when  and  where  she  might 
be  sure  of  his  failure  to  snatch  Cynthia  from  that 
hidden  evil  the  nature  of  which  he  could  only  guess 
at.  Her  world  was  the  artificial  one  of  hotels,  and 
shops,  and  numbered  streets — in  the  real  world,  of 
which  the  lonely  wastes  of  the  Mendips  provided  no 
meager  sample,  she  was  a  profound  ignoramus,  a 
fat  little  automaton  equipped  with  atrophied  senses. 
But  she  blundered  badly  in  composing  herself  so 
cozily  for  the  remainder  of  the  run  to  Bristol.  Meden- 

113 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

ham  had  dwelt  many  months  at  a  time  in  lands 
where  just  such  simple  indications  of  mood  on  the 
part  of  man  or  beast  had  meant  to  him  all  the  differ- 
ence between  life  and  death.  So  now,  if  ever,  he 
became  doubly  alert;  his  eyes  were  strained,  eager, 
peering;  his  body  still  as  the  wild  creatures  which 
he  knew  to  be  skulking  unseen  behind  many  a  rock 
and  grass  tuft  passed  on  the  way. 

This  desolate  land,  given  over  to  stones  inter- 
spersed with  patches  of  wiry  grass  on  which  browsed 
some  hardy  sheep,  resembled  a  disturbed  ocean  sud- 
denly made  solid.  It  was  not  level,  but  ran  in  long, 
almost  regular  undulations.  In  the  trough  between 
two  of  these  rounded  ridges  the  road  bifurcated,  the 
way  to  Bristol  trending  to  the  left,  and  a  less  im- 
portant thoroughfare  glancing  off  to  the  right. 

There  was  no  sign-post,  but  a  child  could  scarce 
have  erred  if  asked  to  choose  the  track  that  led  to 
a  big  town.  Medenham,  having  consulted  the  map 
earlier  in  the  day,  swung  to  the  left  without  hesita- 
tion. The  car  literally  flew  up  the  next  incline,  and 
the  dark  lines  of  trees  and  hedges  in  the  distance 
proved  that  tilled  land  was  being  neared.  Now  he 
was  absolutely  sure  that  he  had  managed,  somehow, 
to  miss  the  Du  Vallon — unless,  indeed,  its  redoubtable 
mechanism  was  of  a  caliber  he  had  not  yet  come 
across  in  the  highways  and  byways  of  Europe. 

With  him,  to  decide  was  to  act.  The  Mercury 
slowed  up  so  promptly  that  Mrs.  Devar  became 
alarmed  again. 

114 


A  Flurry  on  the  Mendips 

"  What  is  it? — a  tire  gone?  "  she  cried. 

"  No,  I  am  on  the  wrong  road — that  is  all." 

"  But  there  is  no  other.  That  turning  we  passed 
was  a  mere  lane." 

The  car  stopped  where  his  watchful  glance  noted 
a  carpet  of  sand  left  by  the  last  shower  of  rain.  He 
sprang  out  and  examined  the  marks  of  recent  traffic. 
Marigny's  vehicle  carried  non-skid  covers  with  studs 
arranged  in  peculiar  groups,  and  their  imprint  was 
plain  to  be  seen.  But  they  had  followed  that  road 
once  only.  It  was  impossible  to  determine  offhand 
whether  they  had  come  or  gone,  but,  if  they  came 
from  Bristol,  then  most  certainly  they  had  not  re- 
turned. 

Medenham  took  nothing  for  granted.  Dusk  was 
advancing,  and  he  must  make  no  mistake  at  this 
stage.  He  ran  the  Mercury  slowly  ahead,  not  tak- 
ing his  gaze  off  the  telltale  signs.  At  last  he  found 
what  he  was  looking  for.  The  broad  scars  left  by 
a  heavy  cart  crossed  the  studs,  and  had  crossed  after 
the  passage  of  the  car.  Thus  he  eliminated  the 
vagaries  of  chance.  Marigny  had  not  taken  the 
road  to  Bristol — he  must  be  on  the  other  one — since 
no  cart  was  in  sight. 

Medenham  backed  and  turned.  Mrs.  Devar,  of 
course,  grew  agitated. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  she  demanded. 

Medenham  resolved  to  end  this  farce  of  pretense, 
else  he  would  not  be  answerable  for  the  manner  of 
his  speech. 

115 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

"  I  mean  to  find  Miss  Vanrenen,"  he  said.  "  Pray 
let  that  suffice  for  the  hour.  Any  further  explana- 
tion you  may  require  can  be  given  at  Bristol  and  in 
her  presence." 

Mrs.  Devar  began  to  sob.  He  heard  her,  and  of 
all  things  that  he  hated  it  was  to  become  the  cause 
of  a  woman's  tears.  But  his  lips  closed  in  a  thin 
seam,  and  he  drove  fast  to  the  fork  in  the  roads. 
Another  halt  here,  and  the  briefest  scrutiny  showed 
that  his  judgment  had  not  erred.  The  Du  Vallon 
had  passed  this  point  twice.  If  it  came  from  Bristol 
in  the  first  instance  it  had  gone  now  to  some  un- 
familiar wilderness  that  skirted  the  whole  northeast- 
ern slopes  of  the  Mendips. 

He  leaped  back  to  the  driving  seat,  and  Mrs.  Devar 
made  one  more  despairing  effort  to  regain  control 
of  a  situation  that  had  slipped  from  her  grasp  nearly 
an  hour  ago. 

"  Please  do  be  sensible,  Fitzroy ! "  she  almost 
screamed.  "  Even  if  he  has  made  a  mistake  in  a 
turning,  Count  Marigny  will  take  every  care  of  Miss 
Vanrenen " 

It  was  useless.  She  was  appealing  to  a  man  of 
stone,  and,  indeed,  Medenham  could  not  pay  heed 
to  her  then  in  any  circumstances,  for  the  road  sur- 
face quickly  became  very  rough,  and  it  needed  all 
his  skill  to  guide  his  highly-strung  car  over  its  in- 
equalities without  inflicting  an  injury  that  might 
prove  disastrous. 

His  only  consolation  was  provided  by  the  knowl- 

116 


A  Flurry  on  the  Mendips 

edge  that  the  risk  to  a  stout  Mercury  was  as  naught 
compared  with  the  tortures  endured  by  a  French- 
built  racer,  with  its  long  wheel-base  and  low  chassis. 
After  a  couple  of  miles  of  semi-miraculous  advance 
his  respect  for  Smith's  capability  as  a  driver  increased 
literally  by  leaps  and  bounds. 

But  the  end  was  nearer  than  he  thought.  On 
reaching  the  top  of  one  of  those  seemingly  intermina- 
ble land-waves,  he  saw  a  blurred  object  in  the  hollow. 
Soon  he  distinguished  Cynthia's  fawn-colored  dust 
cloak,  and  his  heart  throbbed  exultantly  when  the 
girl  fluttered  a  handkerchief  to  show  that  she,  too, 
had  seen. 

Mrs.  Devar  rose  and  clutched  the  back  of  the  seat 
behind  him. 

"  I  apologize,  Fitzroy,"  she  piped  tremulously. 
"  You  were  right.  They  have  lost  their  way 
and  met  with  some  accident.  How  glad  I  am 
that  I  did  not  insist  on  your  making  straight 
for  Bristol ! " 

Her  unparalleled  impudence  won  his  admiration. 
Such  a  woman,  he  thought,  was  worthy  of  a  better 
fate  than  that  which  put  her  in  the  position  of  a 
bought  intriguer.  But  Cynthia  was  near,  waving 
her  hands  gleefully,  and  executing  a  nymph-like 
thanksgiving  dance  on  a  strip  of  turf  by  the  road- 
side, so  Medenham's  views  of  Mrs.  Devar's  previous 
actions  were  tempered  by  conditions  extraordinarily 
favorable  to  her  at  the  moment. 

She  seemed  to  be  aware  instinctively  of  the  change 

117 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

in  his  sentiments  wrought  by  sight  of  Cynthia.      It 
was  in  quite  a  friendly  tone  that  she  cried : 

"Count  Edouard  is  there;  but  where  is  his  man? 

.    .    .    Something  serious  must  have  happened,  and 

the  chauffeur  has  been  sent  to  obtain  help.    .  .    . 

Oh,  how  lucky  we  hurried,  and  how  clever  of  you 
to  find  out  which  way  the  car  went ! " 


118 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHl's  VAGARIES 

CYNTHIA,  notwithstanding  that  spirited  pas  seul, 
was  rather  pale  when  Medenham  stopped  the  car 
close  beside  her.  She  had  been  on  tenterhooks  dur- 
ing the  past  quarter  of  an  hour — there  were  silent 
moments  when  she  measured  her  own  slim  figure 
against  the  natty  Count's  in  half-formed  resolution 
to  take  to  her  heels  along  the  Cheddar  Road. 

At  first,  she  had  enjoyed  the  run  greatly.  Al- 
though Dale  spoke  of  Smith  as  a  mechanic,  the  man 
was  a  first-rate  driver,  and  he  spun  the  Du  Vallon 
along  at  its  best  speed.  But  the  change  from  good 
macadam  to  none  soon  made  itself  felt,  and  Cynthia 
was  more  troubled  than  she  cared  to  show  when  the 
French  flier  came  to  a  standstill  after  panting  and 
jolting  alarmingly  among  the  ruts.  Marigny's  ex- 
cited questions  evoked  only  unintelligible  grunts  from 
Smith;  for  all  that,  the  irritating  truth  could  not 
be  withheld — the  petrol  tank  was  empty;  not  only 
had  the  chauffeur  forgotten  to  fill  it  that  morning, 
but,  by  some  strange  mischance,  the  supply  usually 
held  in  reserve  had  been  left  at  Bristol! 

119 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

The  Frenchman  was  very  angry  with  Smith,  and 
Smith  was  humbly  apologetic.  The  pair  must  have 
acted  convincingly,  because  each  knew  to  a  nicety 
how  soon  a  gallon  of  petrol  would  vaporize  in  the 
Du  Vallon's  six  cylinders.  Having  taken  the  pre- 
caution to  measure  that  exact  quantity  into  the  tank 
before  leaving  Cheddar,  they  were  prepared  for  a 
breakdown  at  any  point  within  a  few  hundred  yards 
of  the  precise  locality  where  it  occurred. 

Cynthia,  being  generous-minded,  tried  to  make 
little  of  the  mishap.  By  taking  that  line  she  strove 
to  reassure  herself. 

"  Fitzroy  is  always  prepared  for  emergencies,"  she 
said.  "  He  will  soon  catch  up  with  us.  But  what 
a  road!  I  didn't  really  notice  it  before.  Surely 
this  cannot  be  the  only  highway  between  Bristol  and 
Cheddar? — and  in  England,  too,  where  the  roads  are 
so  perfect ! " 

"  There  are  two  roads,  but  this  is  the  nearest  one," 
explained  the  glib-tongued  Count,  seemingly  much 
relieved  by  the  prospect  of  Fitzroy's  early  arrival. 
"  You  don't  deserve  to  be  pulled  out  of  a  difficulty 
so  promptly,  Smith,"  he  went  on,  eying  the  chauffeur 
sternly. 

"  There's  a  village  not  very  far  ahead,  sir,"  said 
the  abashed  Smith. 

"  Oh,  never  mind !  We  must  wait  for  Miss  Van- 
renen's  car." 

"  Wait?  "  inquired  Cynthia.  "  What  else  can  we 
do?" 

120 


A  Midsummer  Night's  Vagaries 

"  I  take  it  he  meant  to  walk  to  some  village,  and 
bring  a  stock  of  spirit." 

"  Oh,  dear !  I  hope  no  such  thing  will  be  nec- 
essary." 

From  that  half  hint  of  latent  and  highly  disagree- 
able developments  dated  Cynthia's  uneasiness.  She 
accepted  Marigny's  suggestion  that  they  should  stroll 
to  the  top  of  the  slight  hill  just  descended,  whence 
they  would  be  able  to  watch  their  rescuer's  approach 
from  a  considerable  distance — she  even  remembered 
to  tell  him  to  smoke — but  she  answered  his  lively 
sallies  at  random,  and  agreed  unreservedly  with  his 
voluble  self-reproach. 

The  obvious  disuse  of  the  road,  a  mere  lane  pro- 
viding access  to  sheep  inclosures  on  the  hills,  caused 
her  no  small  perplexity,  though  she  saw  fit  not  to 
add  to  her  companion's  distress  by  commenting  on 
it.  In  any  other  circumstances  she  would  have  been 
genuinely  alarmed,  but  her  well-established  acquaint- 
anceship with  the  Count,  together  with  the  appar- 
ently certain  fact  that  Fitzroy  and  Mrs.  Devar  were 
coming  nearer  each  second,  forbade  the  tremors  that 
any  similar  accident  must  have  evoked  if,  say,  they 
were  marooned  on  some  remote  mountain  range  of 
the  continent,  and  no  friendly  car  was  speeding  to 
their  aid. 

The  two  halted  on  the  rising  ground,  and  one  of 
them,  at  least,  gazed  anxiously  into  the  purple 
shadows  now  mellowing  the  gray  monotony  of  the 
plateau.  The  point  where  the  Du  Vallon  left  the 

121 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

main  road  was  invisible  from  where  they  stood. 
Marigny  had  laid  his  plans  with  skill,  so  his  humor- 
ous treatment  of  their  plight  was  not  marred  by 
any  lurking  fear  of  the  Mercury's  unwelcome  ap- 
pearance. 

"  What  a  terrible  collapse  this  would  be  if  I  were 
running  away  with  you,  Miss  Cynthia,"  he  said  slyly. 
"  Let  us  imagine  a  priest  waiting  in  some  ancient 
castle  ten  miles  away,  and  an  irate  father,  or  a 
pair  of  them,  starting  from  Cheddar  in  hot  pur- 
suit." 

"  My  imagination  fails  me  there,  Monsieur  Ma- 
rigny," she  replied,  and  the  shade  of  emphasis  on 
his  surname  showed  that  she  was  fully  aware  of  the 
boundary  crossed  by  the  "  Miss  Cynthia,"  an  ad- 
vance which  surprised  her  more  than  the  Frenchman 
counted  on.  "  At  present  I  am  wholly  absorbed 
in  a  vain  effort  to  picture  an  automobile  somewhere 
down  there  in  the  gathering  mists ;  still,  it  must  arrive 
soon." 

Then  Marigny  put  forth  a  tentative  claw. 

"  I  hate  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  mais  il  faut  marcher 
quand  le  diable  est  aux  trousses.*  I  am  unwillingly 
forced  to  believe  that  your  chauffeur  has  taken  the 
other  road." 

"  The  other  road !  "  wailed  Cynthia  in  sudden  and 
'most  poignant  foreboding.  It  was  then  that  she 
iirst  began  to  estimate  her  running  powers. 

* "  But  needs   must   when  the   devil   drives." 
122 


A  Midsummer  Night's  Vagaries 

"  Yes,  there  are  two,  you  know.  The  second  one 
is  not  so  direct " 

"  If  you  think  that,  your  man  had  better  go  at 
once  to  the  village  he  spoke  of.  Is  it  certain  that 
he  will  obtain  petrol  there  ?  " 

"  Almost  certain." 

"  Really,  Monsieur  Marigny,  I  fail  to  understand 
you.  Why  should  you  express  a  doubt?  He 
appeared  to  be  confident  enough  five  minutes 
ago.  He  was  ready  to  start  until  we  pre- 
vented him." 

That  the  girl  should  yield  to  slight  panic  was 
precisely  what  Count  Edouard  desired.  True,  Cyn- 
thia's sparkling  eyes  and  firm  lips  were  eloquent  of 
keen  annoyance  rather  than  fear,  but  Marigny  was 
an  adept  in  reading  the  danger  signals  of  beauty  irt 
distress,  and  he  saw  in  these  symptoms  the  heralds- 
of  tears  and  fright.  His  experience  did  not  lead 
him  far  astray,  but  he  had  not  allowed  for  racial 
difference  between  the  Latin  and  the  Anglo-Saxon. 
Cynthia  might  weep,  she  might  even  attempt  to  run, 
but  in  the  last  resource  she  would  face  him  with 
dauntless  courage. 

"  I  assure  you  I  would  not  have  had  this  thing 
happen  on  any  account,"  he  said  in  a  voice  that  vi- 
brated with  sympathy.  "  Indeed,  I  pray  your  pity 
in  my  own  behalf,  Miss  Vanrenen.  After  all,  it 
is  I  who  suffer  the  agony  of  failure  when  I  meant 
only  to  please.  You  will  reach  Bristol  this  evening, 
a  little  late,  perhaps,  but  quite  safely,  and  I  hope 

123 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

that  you  will  laugh  then  at  the  predicament  which 
now  looks  so  ill-starred." 

His  seeming  sincerity  appeased  her  to  some  extent. 
In  rapid  swing  back  to  the  commonplace,  she  af- 
fected to  laugh. 

"  It  is  not  so  serious,  after  all,"  she  said,  with 
more  calmness  than  she  felt.  "  Just  for  a  moment 
you  threw  me  off  the  rails  by  your  lawyer-like  vague- 
ness." 

Drawing  a  little  apart,  she  looked  steadily  back 
along  the  deserted  road. 

"  I  see  nothing  of  my  car,"  she  murmured  at  last. 
"  It  will  soon  be  dusk.  We  must  take  no  more 
chances.  Please  send  for  that  benzine  right  away." 

Smith  was  dispatched  forthwith  on  what  he  knew 
to  be  a  fool's  errand,  since  both  he  and  Marigny  were 
practically  sure  of  their  ground.  The  nearest  petrol 
was  to  be  found  at  Langford,  two  miles  along  the 
Bristol  road  from  the  fork,  and  four  miles  in  the 
opposite  direction  to  that  taken  by  Smith,  who,  when 
he  returned  empty-handed  an  hour  later,  must  make 
another  long  journey  to  Langford.  The  Du  Vallon 
was  now  anchored  immovably  until  eleven  o'clock, 
and  it  was  well  that  the  girl  could  not  realize  the 
true  nature  of  the  ordeal  before  her,  or  events  might 
have  taken  an  awkward  twist. 

The  Frenchman  meant  no  real  harm  by  his  rascally 
scheme,  for  Cynthia  Vanrenen,  daughter  of  a  well- 
known  American  citizen,  was  not  to  be  wooed  and 
won  in  the  fashion  that  commended  itself  to  un- 

124 


A  Midsummer  Night's  Vagaries 

scrupulous  lovers  in  by-gone  days.  Yet  his  design 
blended  subtlety  and  daring  in  a  way  that  was 
worthy  of  ancestors  who  had  ruffled  it  at  Versailles 
with  the  cavaliers  of  old  France.  He  trusted  im- 
plicitly to  the  effect  of  a  somewhat  exciting  adventure 
on  the  susceptible  feminine  heart.  The  phantom 
of  distrust  would  soon  vanish.  She  would  yield  to 
the  spell  of  a  night  scented  with  the  breath  of  sum- 
mer, languorous  with  soft  zephyrs,  a  night  when  the 
spirit  of  romance  itself  would  emparadise  the  lonely 
waste,  and  a  belated  moon,  "  like  to  a  silver  bow  new- 
bent  in  heaven,"  would  lend  its  glamor  to  a  sky 
already  spangled  with  glowing  sapphires. 
In  such  a  night,  all  things  were  possible. 

In  such  a  night 

Stood  Dido  with  a  willow  in  her  hand 
Upon  the  wild  sea-banks,  and  waft  her  love 
To  come  again  to  Carthage. 

Marigny  had  indeed  arranged  a  situation  worthy 
of  his  nurturing  among  the  decadents  of  Paris.  He 
believed  that  in  these  surroundings  an  impressionable 
girl  would  admit  him  to  a  degree  of  intimacy  not 
to  be  attained  by  many  days  of  prosaic  meetings. 
At  the  right  moment,  when  his  well-bribed  servant 
was  gone  to  Langford,  he  would  remember  a  bottle 
of  wine  and  some  sandwiches  stored  in  the  car  that 
morning  to  provide  the  luncheon  that  he  might  not 
obtain  at  a  wayside  inn.  Cynthia  and  he  would 
make  merry  over  the  feast.  The  magnetism  that  had 

125 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

never  yet  failed  him  in  affairs  of  the  heart  would 
surely  prove  potent  now  at  this  real  crisis  in  his 
life.  Marriage  to  a  rich  woman  could  alone  snatch 
him  from  the  social  abyss,  and  the  prospect  became 
doubly  alluring  when  it  took  the  guise  of  Cynthia. 
He  would  restore  her  to  a  disconsolate  chaperon  some 
time  before  midnight,  and  he  was  cynic  enough  to 
admit  that  if  he  had  not  then  succeeded  in  winning 
her  esteem  by  his  chivalry,  his  unobtrusive  tender- 
ness, his  devoted  attentions — above  all,  by  his  flow 
of  interesting  talk  and  well-turned  epigram — the  fault 
would  be  his  own,  and  not  attributable  to  adverse 
conditions. 

It  was  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  he  failed  to 
choke  back  the  curse  quick  risen  to  his  lips  when 
the  throb  of  the  Mercury's  engine  came  over  the  crest 
of  the  hill.  Never  was  mailed  dragon  more  terrible 
to  the  beholder,  even  in  the  days  of  knight-errantry. 
In  an  instant  his  well-conceived  project  had  gone 
by  the  board.  He  saw  himself  discredited,  suspected, 
a  skulking  plotter  driven  into  the  open,  a  self-con- 
fessed trickster  utterly  at  the  mercy  of  some  hap- 
hazard question  that  would  lay  bare  his  pretenses 
and  cover  his  counterfeit  rhapsody  with  ridicule. 

If  Cynthia  had  heard,  and  hearing  understood,  it 
is  possible  that  a  great  many  remarkable  incidents 
then  in  embryo  would  have  passed  into  the  mists 
of  what  might  have  been.  For  instance,  she  would 
not  have  deigned  to  notice  Count  Edouard  Marigny's 
further  existence.  The  next  time  she  met  him  he 

126 


A  Midsummer  Night's  Vagaries 

would  fill  a  place  in  the  landscape  comparable  to 
that  occupied  by  a  migratory  beetle.  But  her  heart 
was  leaping  for  joy,  and  her  cry  of  thankfulness 
quite  drowned  in  her  ears  the  Frenchman's  furious 
oath. 

Mrs.  Devar,  having  had  time  to  gather  her  wits, 
made  a  gallant  attempt  to  retrieve  her  fellow-con- 
spirator's shattered  fortunes. 

"  My  dearest  Cynthia,"  she  cried  effusively,  "  do 
say  you  are  not  hurt !  " 

"  Not  a  bit,"  was  the  cheerful  answer.  "  It  is 
not  I,  but  the  car,  that  is  out  of  commission.  Didn't 
you  see  me  do  the  Salome  act  when  you  were  thrown 
on  the  screen  ?  " 

"  Ah !  the  car  has  broken  down.  I  do  not  wonder 
— this  fearful  road " 

"  The  road  seems  to  have  strayed  out  of  Colorado, 
but  that  isn't  the  trouble.  We  are  short  of  petrol. 
Please  give  some  to  Monsieur  Marigny,  Fitzroy. 
Then  we  can  hurry  to  Bristol,  and  the  Count  must 
pick  up  his  chauffeur  on  the  way." 

Without  more  ado,  she  seated  herself  by  Mrs. 
Devar's  side,  and  Marigny  realized  that  he  had  been 
robbed  of  a  golden  opportunity.  No  persuasion 
would  bring  Cynthia  back  into  the  Du  Vallon  that 
evening;  it  would  need  the  exercise  of  all  his  subtle 
tact  to  induce  her  to  re-enter  it  at  any  time  in  the 
near  future. 

He  strove  to  appear  at  his  ease,  even  essayed  a 
few  words  of  congratulation  on  the  happy  chance 

127 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

that  brought  the  Mercury  to  their  relief,  but  the 
imperious  young  lady  cut  short  his  limping  phrases. 

"  Oh,  don't  let  us  waste  these  precious  minutes," 
she  protested.  "  It  will  be  quite  dark  soon,  and  if 
there  is  much  more  of  this  wretched  track " 

Medenham  broke  in  at  that.  Mrs.  Devar's  change 
of  front  had  caused  him  some  grim  amusement,  but 
the  discovery  of  Marigny's  artifice  roused  his  wrath 
again.  It  was  high  time  that  Cynthia  should  be 
enlightened,  partly  at  least,  as  to  the  true  nature  of 
the  "  accident  "  that  had  befallen  her ;  he  had  already 
solved  the  riddle  of  Smith's  disappearance. 

"  The  road  to  Bristol  lies  behind  you,  Miss  Van- 
renen,"  he  said. 

"  One  of  the  roads,"  cried  the  Frenchman. 

"  No,  the  only  road,"  persisted  Medenham.  "  We 
return  to  it  some  two  miles  in  the  rear.  Had  you 
followed  your  present  path  much  farther  you  could 
not  possibly  have  reached  Bristol  to-night." 

"  But  there  is  a  village  quite  near.  My  chauffeur 
has  gone  there  for  petrol.  Someone  would  have 
told  us  of  our  mistake." 

"  There  is  no  petrol  to  be  bought  at  Blagdon, 
which  is  a  mere  hamlet  on  the  downs.  Anyhow, 
here  are  two  gallons — ample  for  your  needs — but  if 
your  man  is  walking  to  Blagdon  you  will  be  com- 
pelled to  wait  till  he  returns,  Monsieur  Marigny." 

Though  Medenham  did  not  endeavor  to  check  the 
contemptuous  note  that  crept  into  his  voice,  he  cer- 
tainly ought  not  to  have  uttered  those  two  con- 

128 


A  Midsummer  Night's  Vagaries 

eluding  words.  Had  he  ransacked  his  ample  vocabu- 
lary of  the  French  language  he  could  scarcely  have 
hit  upon  another  set  of  syllables  offering  similar  diffi- 
culties to  the  foreigner.  It  was  quite  evident  that 
his  accurate  pronunciation  startled  the  accomplices. 
Each  arrived  at  the  same  conclusion,  though  by  dif- 
ferent channels ;  this  man  was  no  mere  chauffeur, 
and  the  fact  rendered  his  marked  hostility  all  the 
more  significant. 

Nevertheless,  for  the  moment,  Marigny  concealed 
his  uneasiness :  by  a  display  of  good  humor  he  hoped 
to  gloss  over  the  palpable  absurdity  of  his  earlier 
statements  to  Cynthia. 

"  I  seem  to  have  bungled  this  business  very  badly," 
he  said  airily.  "  Please  don't  be  too  hard  on  me. 
I  shall  make  the  amende  when  I  see  you  in  Bristol. 
Au  revoir,  cheres  dames!  Tell  them  to  keep  me  some 
dinner.  I  may  not  be  so  very  far  behind,  since  you 
ladies  will  take  some  time  over  your  toilette,  and 
I  shall — what  do  you  call  it — scorch  like  mad  after 
I  have  found  that  careless  scoundrel,  Smith." 

Cynthia  had  suddenly  grown  dumb,  so  Mrs.  Devar 
tried  once  more  to  relax  the  tension. 

"  Do  be  careful,  Count  Edouard,"  she  cried ;  "  this 
piece  of  road  is  dreadfully  dangerous,  and,  when  all 
is  said  and  done,  another  half  hour  is  now  of  no 
great  consequence." 

"  If  your  chauffeur  has  really  gone  to  Blagdon, 
he  will  not  be  back  under  an  hour  at  least,"  broke 
in  Medenham's  disdainful  voice.  "  Unless  you  wish 

129 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

to  wreck  your  car  you  will  not  attempt  to  follow 
him." 

With  that  he  bent  over  the  head  lamps,  and  their 
radiance  fell  unexpectedly  on  Marigny's  scowling 
face,  since  the  discomfited  adventurer  could  no  longer 
pretend  to  ignore  the  Englishman's  menace.  Still, 
he  was  powerless.  Though  quivering  with  anger  and 
balked  desire,  he  dared  not  provoke  a  scene  in  Cyn- 
thia's presence,  and  her  continued  silence  already 
warned  him  that  she  was  bewildered  if  not  actually 
suspicious.  He  forced  a  laugh. 

"  Explanations  are  like  swamps,"  he  said.  "  The 
farther  you  plunge  into  them  the  deeper  you  sink. 
So,  good-by!  To  please  you,  Mrs.  Devar,  I  shall 
crawl.  As  for  Miss  Vanrenen,  I  see  that  she  does 
not  care  what  becomes  of  me." 

Cynthia  weakened  a  little  at  that.  Certainly  she 
wondered  why  her  model  chauffeur  chose  to  express 
his  opinions  so  bluntly,  while  Marigny's  unwillingness 
to  take  offense  was  admirable. 

"  Is  there  no  better  plan  ?  "  she  asked  quickly,  for 
Medenham  had  started  the  engine,  and  his  hand  was 
on  the  reversing  lever. 

"  For  what  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  For  extricating  my  friend  from  his  difficulty  ?  " 

"  If  he  likes  to  come  with  us,  he  can  leave  his  car 
here  all  night,  and  return  for  it  to-morrow." 

"  Perhaps " 

"  Please  do  not  trouble  yourself  in  the  least  on 
my  account,"  broke  in  the  Count  gayly.  "  As  for 

130 


A  Midsummer  Night's  Vagaries 

abandoning  my  car,  such  a  stupid  notion  would  never 
enter  my  mind.  No,  no!  I  wait  for  Smith,  but 
you  may  rely  on  my  appearance  in  Bristol  before  you 
have  finished  dinner." 

Though  it  was  no  simple  matter  to  back  and  turn 
the  Mercury  in  that  rough  and  narrow  road,  Meden- 
ham  accomplished  the  maneuver  with  a  skill  that  the 
Frenchman  appreciated  to  the  full.  For  the  first 
time  he  noted  the  number  when  the  tail-lamp  re- 
vealed it. 

"XL  4000,"  he  commented  to  himself.  "  I  must 
inquire  who  the  owner  is.  Devar  or  Smith  will 
know  where  to  apply  for  the  information.  And  I 
must  also  ascertain  that  fellow's  history.  Confound 
him,  and  my  luck,  too!  If  the  Devar  woman  has 
any  sense  she  will  keep  Cynthia  well  out  of  his  way 
until  the  other  chauffeur  arrives." 

As  it  happened,  the  "  Devar  woman  "  was  think- 
ing the  same  thing  at  the  same  moment,  but,  being 
nervous,  dared  not  attempt  to  utter  her  thoughts 
while  the  car  was  creeping  cautiously  over  the  ruts 
and  stones.  At  last,  when  the  highroad  was  reached, 
the  pace  quickened,  and  she  regained  the  faculty  of 
speech. 

"  We  have  had  a  quite  eventful  day,"  she  said 
with  an  air  of  motherly  solicitude,  turning  to  the 
distrait  girl  by  her  side.  "  I  am  sure  you  are  tired. 
What  between  an  extra  amount  of  sightseeing  and 
poor  Count  Edouard's  unfortunate  mistake,  we  have 
been  in  the  car  nearly  twelve  hours." 

131 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

"  How  did  Fitzroy  discover  that  we  had  taken  the 
wrong  road  ?  "  asked  Cynthia,  rousing  herself  from 
a  perplexed  reverie. 

"  Well,  he  drove  very  fast  from  Cheddar,  much 
too  fast,  to  my  thinking,  though  the  risk  has  been 
more  than  justified  by  circumstances.  Of  course, 
it  is  always  easy  to  be  wise  after  the  event.  At 
any  rate,  there  being  no  sign  of  your  car  when  we 
reached  the  top  of  a  long  hill,  we — er — we  discussed 
matters,  and  decided  to  explore  the  byroad." 

"  Did  you  remain  long  in  Cheddar?  If  Fitzroy 
hit  up  the  pace,  why  were  you  so  far  behind?  " 

"  I  waited  a  few  minutes  to  address  some  post- 
cards. And  that  reminds  me — Fitzroy  sent  a  most 
impertinent  message  by  one  of  the  servants " 

"  Impertinent ! " 

"  My  dear,  there  is  no  other  word  for  it — some- 
thing about  going  off  without  me  if  I  did  not  start 
instantly.  Really,  I  shall  be  glad  when  Simmonds 
takes  his  place.  But  there!  We  must  not  renew 
our  Bournemouth  argument." 

"  And  he  caused  a  servant  in  the  hotel  to  speak 
to  you  in  that  manner?  " 

"  Yes — the  very  girl  who  waited  on  us  at  tea — a 
pert  creature,  who  seemed  to  find  the  task  congenial." 

Mrs.  Devar  was  building  better  than  she  knew. 
Cynthia  laughed,  though  not  with  the  whole-souled 
merriment  that  was  music  in  Medenham's  ears. 

"  She  has  been  properly  punished ;  I  forgot  to 
tip  her,"  she  explained. 

132 


A  Midsummer  Night's  Vagaries 
"  Count  Edouard  would  see  to  that " 


"  He  didn't.  I  noticed  what  he  paid — out  of  sheer 
curiosity.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  send  her  something." 

"  My  dear  Cynthia !  " 

But  dear  Cynthia  was  making  believe  to  be  quite 
amused  by  a  notion  that  had  just  suggested  itself. 
She  leaned  forward  in  the  darkness  and  touched 
Medenham's  shoulder. 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  the  name  of  the  waitress 
who  brought  you  some  tea  at  Cheddar?  "  she  asked. 
"  None  of  us  gave  her  anything,  and  I  hate  to  omit 
these  small  items.  If  I  had  her  name  I  could  forward 
a  postal  order  from  Bristol." 

"  There  is  no  need,  Miss  Vanrenen,"  said  Meden- 
ham.  "  I  handed  her — well,  sufficient  to  clear  all 
claims." 

"Fordid?     But  why?" 

The  temptation  to  explain  that  he  had  never  seen 
the  girl  before  that  day  was  strong,  but  he  waived  it, 
and  contented  himself  with  saying: 

"  I — er — can't  exactly  say — force  of  habit,  I 
imagine." 

"  Is  she  a  friend  of  yours  ?  " 

"  No." 

Cynthia  subsided  into  the  tonneau. 

"  Of  all  the  odd  things !  "  she  murmured,  little 
dreaming  that  her  chance  question  had  sent  a  thrill 
of  sheer  delight  through  Medenham's  every  vein. 

"  What  is  it  now  ? "  inquired  Mrs.  Devar  vin- 
dictively, for  she  detested  these  half  confidences. 

133 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

"  Oh,  nothing  of  any  importance.  Fitzroy  footed 
the  bill,  it  seems." 

"  Very  probably.  He  must  have  bribed  the  girl 
to  be  impudent." 

Cynthia  left  it  at  that.  She  wished  these  people 
would  stop  their  quarreling,  which  threatened  to  spoil 
an  otherwise  perfect  day. 

The  Mercury  ran  smoothly  into  ancient  Bristol, 
crossed  the  Avon  by  the  pontoon  bridge,  and  whirled 
up  the  hill  to  the  College  Green  Hotel.  There,  on 
the  steps,  stood  Captain  James  Devar.  Obviously, 
he  did  not  recognize  them,  and  Medenham  guessed 
the  reason — he  expected  to  meet  his  mother  only,  and 
bestowed  no  second  glance  on  a  car  containing  two 
ladies.  Indeed,  his  first  words  betrayed  sheer  amaze- 
ment. Mrs.  Devar  cried,  "  Ah,  there  you  are, 
James !  "  and  James's  eyeglass  fell  from  its  well-worn 
crease. 

"  Hello,  mater !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  But  what's 
up  ?  Why  are  you — where  is  Marigny  ?  " 

"  Miles  away — the  silly  man  ran  short  of  petrol. 
Fortunately  our  car  came  to  the  rescue,  or  it  would 
have  been  most  awkward,  since  Miss  Vanrenen  was 
with  the  Count  at  the  time.  Cynthia,  you  have  not 
met  my  son.  James,  this  is  Miss  Vanrenen." 

The  little  man  danced  forward.  Like  all  short 
and  stout  mortals,  he  was  nimble  on  his  feet,  and  his 
mother's  voluble  outburst  warned  him  of  an  unfore- 
seen hitch  in  the  arrangements. 

"  Delighted,  I'm  shaw,"  said  he.      "  But,  by  gad, 

134 


A  Midsummer  Night's  Vagaries 

fancy  losing  poo-aw  Eddie!  What  have  you  done 
with  him?  Dwiven  a  stake  through  him  and  buwied 
him  at  a  cwoss  woad?  " 

Medenham  dreaded  that  the  too-faithful  Sim- 
monds,  car  and  all,  would  be  found  awaiting  their 
arrival,  and  it  was  a  decided  relief  when  the  only 
automobile  in  sight  proved  to  be  the  state  equipage 
of  some  local  magnate  dining  at  the  hotel.  Cynthia, 
apparently,  had  shared  his  thoughts  so  far  as  they 
concerned  Simmonds. 

"  I  suppose  your  friend  Simmonds  will  reveal  his 
whereabouts  during  the  evening,"  she  said,  while  dis- 
encumbering herself  of  her  wraps.  Mrs.  Devar  had 
already  alighted,  but  the  girl  was  standing  in  the 
car  and  spoke  over  Medenham's  shoulder. 

"  Of  course,  he  may  not  be  here,"  was  the  answer, 
not  given  too  loudly,  since  Mrs.  Devar  had  hastened 
to  give  details  to  the  perplexed  James,  and  there 
was  no  need  to  let  either  of  them  overhear  his  words. 

"  Oh  my !     What  will  happen,  then  ?  " 

"  In  that  event,  I  should  feel  compelled  to  take 
his  place  again." 

"  But  the  compulsion,  as  you  put  it,  tends  rather 
to  take  you  to  London." 

"  I  have  changed  my  mind,  Miss  Vanrenen,"  he 
said  simply. 

She  tittered.  There  was  just  a  spice  of  coquetry 
in  her  manner  as  she  stooped  nearer. 

"  You  believe  that  Simmonds  would  not  have  found 
me  in  that  wretched  lane  to-night,"  she  whispered. 

135 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

"  I  am  quite  sure  of  it." 

"  But  the  whole  affair  was  a  mere  stupid  error." 

"  I  am  only  too  glad  that  I  was  enabled  to  put 
it  right,"  he  said  with  due  gravity. 

"  Cynthia,"  came  a  shrill  voice,  "  do  make  haste, 
I  am  positively  starving." 

"  Guess  you'd  better  lose  Simmonds,"  breathed  the 
girl,  and  an  unaccountable  fluttering  of  her  heart 
induced  a  remarkably  high  color  in  her  cheeks  when 
she  sped  up  the  steps  of  the  hotel  and  entered  the 
brilliantly-lighted  atrium. 

As  for  Medenham,  though  he  had  carefully  mapped 
out  the  exact  line  of  conduct  to  be  followed  in  Bristol 
while  watching  the  radiantly  white  arc  of  road  that 
quivered  in  front  of  the  car  during  the  run  from 
the  Mendips,  for  a  second  or  two  he  dared  not  trust 
his  voice  to  ask  the  hall-porter  certain  necessary 
questions.  Unaided  by  the  glamor  of  birth  or  posi- 
tion he  had  won  this  delightful  girl's  confidence.  She 
believed  in  him  now  as  she  would  never  again  believe 
in  Count  Edouard  Marigny;  what  that  meant  in 
such  a  moment,  none  can  tell  but  a  devout  lover. 
Naturally,  that  was  his  point  of  view;  it  did  not 
occur  to  him  that  Cynthia  might  already  have  re- 
gretted the  impulse  which  led  her  to  utter  her 
thoughts  aloud.  Her  nature  was  of  the  Martian 
type  revealed  to  Swedenborg  in  one  of  his  philosophic 
trances.  "  The  inhabitants  of  Mars,"  said  he,  "  ac- 
count it  wicked  to  think  one  thing  and  speak  an- 
other— to  wish  one  thing  while  the  face  expresses 

136 


A  Midsummer  Night's  Vagaries 

another."  Happy  Martians,  perhaps,  but  not  quite 
happy  Cynthia,  still  blushing  hotly  because  of  her 
daring  suggestion  as  to  the  disposal  of  Simmonds. 

But  she  was  deeply  puzzled  by  the  mishap  to  the 
Du  Vallon.  Unwilling  to  think  evil  of  anyone,  she 
felt,  nevertheless,  that  Fitzroy  (as  she  called  him) 
would  never  have  treated  both  Mrs.  Devar  and  the 
Frenchman  so  cavalierly  if  he  had  not  anticipated 
the  very  incident  that  happened  on  the  Mendips. 
Why  did  he  turn  back?  How  did  he  really  find  out 
what  had  become  of  them?  What  would  Simmonds 
have  done  in  his  stead?  A  hundred  strange  doubts 
throbbed  in  her  brain,  but  they  were  jumbled  in  con- 
fusion before  that  more  intimate  and  insistent  ques- 
tion— how  would  Fitzroy  interpret  her  eagerness  to 
retain  him  in  her  service? 

Meanwhile,  the  Swedish  seer's  theory  of  Martian 
speech  and  thought  acting  in  unity  was  making  itself 
at  home  on  the  pavement  in  front  of  the  hotel. 

Medenham  learnt  from  the  hall-porter  that  a 
motor-car  had  reached  Bristol  from  London  about 
five  o'clock.  The  driver,  who  was  alone,  had  asked 
for  Miss  Vanrenen,  and  was  told  that  she  was  ex- 
pected but  had  not  yet  arrived,  whereupon  he  went 
off,  saying  that  he  would  call  after  dinner. 

"  Another  shuffer  kem  a  bit  later  an'  axed  the 
same  thing,"  went  on  the  man,  "  but  he  didn't  have 
no  car,  an'  he  left  no  word  about  callin'  again." 

"  Excellent !  "  said  Medenham.  "  Now  please  go 
and  tell  Captain  Devar  that  I  wish  to  see  him." 

137 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

«  Here?  " 

"  Yes.  I  cannot  leave  my  car.  He  must  be  at 
liberty,  as  he  is  in  evening  dress,  and  the  ladies  will 
not  come  downstairs  under  half  an  hour." 

Devar  soon  appeared.  His  mother  had  managed 
to  inform  him  that  the  substituted  driver  was  re- 
sponsible for  the  complete  collapse  of  Marigny's 
project,  and  he  was  puffing  with  annoyance,  though 
well  aware  that  he  must  not  display  it. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  strutting  up  to  Medenham  and 
blowing  a  cloud  of  cigarette  smoke  from  his  thick 
lips,  "  well,  what  is  it,  my  man?  " 

For  answer,  Medenham  disconnected  a  lamp  and 
held  it  close  to  his  own  face. 

"  Do  you  recognize  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

Devar,  in  blank  astonishment,  affected  to  screw  in 
his  eyeglass  more  firmly. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  nor  am  I  particularly  anxious 
to  make  your  acquaintance.  You  have  behaved 
wather  badly,  I  understand,  but  that  is  of  no  con- 
sequence now,  as  Simmonds  has  bwought  his  car 
he-aw " 

"  Look  again,  Devar.  We  last  met  in  Calcutta, 
where  you  swindled  me  out  of  fifty  pounds.  Un- 
fortunately I  did  not  hear  of  your  presence  in  South 
Africa  until  you  were  cashiered  at  Cape  Town,  or 
I  might  have  saved  the  authorities  some  trouble." 

The  man  wilted  under  those  stern  eyes. 

"  Good  gad !      Medenham !  "  he  stammered. 

Medenham  replaced  the  lamp  in  its  socket. 

138 


A  Midsummer  Night's  Vagaries 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  not  trying  any  pretense," 
he  said.  "  Otherwise  I  would  be  forced  to  take 
action,  with  the  most  lamentable  consequences  for 
you,  Devar.  Now,  I  will  hold  my  hand,  provided 
you  obey  me  implicitly.  Send  for  your  overcoat, 
go  straight  to  the  Central  Station,  and  travel  to 
London  by  the  next  train.  You  can  scribble  some 
excuse  to  your  mother,  but,  if  I  have  any  cause 
even  to  suspect  that  you  have  told  her  who  I  am, 
I  shall  not  hesitate  to  put  the  police  on  your  track. 
You  must  vanish,  and  be  dumb — for  three  months 
at  least.  If  you  are  hard  up,  I  will  give  you  some 
money — sufficient  for  a  fortnight's  needs — and  you 
can  write  to  me  for  further  supplies  at  my  London 
address.  Even  a  rascal  like  you  must  be  permitted 
to  live,  I  suppose,  so  I  risk  breaking  the  law  myself 
by  screening  you  from  justice.  Those  are  my  terms. 
Do  you  accept  them  ?  " 

The  red  face  had  grown  yellow,  and  the  steel-gray 
eyes  that  were  a  heritage  of  the  Devar  family  glis- 
tened with  terror,  but  the  man  endeavored  to  obtain 
mercy. 

"  Dash  it  all,  Medenham,"  he  groaned,  "  don't  be 
too  hard  on  me.  I'm  goin'  stwaight  now — 'pon  me 
honor.  This  chap,  Marigny " 

"  You  fool !  I  offer  you  liberty  and  money,  yet 
you  try  brazenly  to  get  me  to  fall  in  with 
your  wretched  designs  against  Miss  Vanrenen! 
Which  is  it  to  be — a  police  cell  or  the  rail- 
way station  ?  " 

139 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

Medenham  moved  as  if  to  summon  the  hall-porter. 
In  a  very  frenzy  of  fear  Devar  caught  his  arm. 

"  For  Gawd's  sake "  he  whispered. 

"You  go,  then?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  am  prepared  to  spare  you  to  the  utmost  ex- 
tent. Tell  the  hall-porter  to  bring  your  overcoat 
and  hat,  and  to  give  you  a  sheet  of  notepaper  and 
an  envelope.  Show  me  what  you  write.  If  it  is 
satisfactory  I  shall  start  you  with  twenty  pounds. 
You  can  send  from  London  to-morrow  for  your  be- 
longings, as  your  hotel  bill  will  be  paid.  But  re- 
member! One  treacherous  word  from  you  and  I 
telegraph  to  Scotland  Yard." 

Mrs.  Devar  had  a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  when 
a  penciled  note  from  her  son  was  delivered  at  her 
room  and  she  read: 

DEAR  MATEH— I  hardly  had  time  to  tell  you  that  I  am  obliged 
to  return  to  town  this  evening.  Please  make  my  apologies  to 
Miss  Vanrenen  and  Count  Marigny.  Yours  ever, 

J. 

Medenham  frowned  a  little  at  the  reference  to 
Cynthia,  but  something  of  the  sort  was  necessary  if 
an  open  scandal  was  to  be  avoided.  As  for  "  Dear 
Mater,"  she  was  so  unnerved  that  she  actually  wept. 
Hard  and  calculating  though  she  might  be,  the  man 
was  her  son,  and  the  bitter  experiences  of  twenty 
years  warned  her  that  he  had  been  driven  from  Bristol 
by  some  ghost  new  risen  from  an  evil  past. 

140 


A  Midsummer  Night's  Vagaries 

Medenham,  however,  believed  that  he  had  settled 
one  difficulty,  and  prepared  blithely  to  tackle  an- 
other. He  ran  the  car  to  the  garage  where  he  had 
arranged  to  meet  Dale. 

"  Have  you  seen  Simmonds  ?  "  was  his  first  ques- 
tion. 

"  Yes,  my  1 ,  yes,  sir." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"  Just  off  for  a  snack,  sir,  before  goin'  to  the 
hotel." 

"  Bring  him  here  at  once.  We  will  attend  to  the 
snack  afterwards.  No  mistake,  now,  Dale.  He 
must  see  no  one  in  the  hotel  until  he  and  I  have  had 
a  talk." 

Simmonds  was  produced.      He  saluted. 

"  Glad  to  meet  you  again,  my  lord,"  he  said.  "  I 
hope  I  haven't  caused  any  trouble  by  sending  that 
telegram  to  Bournemouth,  but  Dale  tells  me  that 
you  don't  wish  your  title  to  be  known." 

"  Forget  it,"  said  Medenham.  "  I  have  done  you 
a  good  turn,  Simmonds — are  you  prepared  to  do  me 
one?" 

"  Just  try  me,  sir." 

"  Put  your  car  out  of  commission.  Stick  a  pin 
through  the  earth  contact  of  your  magneto  and  jam 
it  against  a  cylinder,  or  something  of  the  sort.  Then 
go  to  Miss  Vanrenen  and  tell  her  how  sorry  you  are, 
but  you  must  have  another  week  at  least  to  pull 
things  straight.  She  will  not  be  vexed,  and  I  guaran- 
tee you  against  any  possible  loss.  To  put  the  best 

14.1 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

face  on  affairs,  you  had  better  remain  in  Bristol  a 
few  days  at  my  expense.  Of  course,  it  is  under- 
stood that  I  deputize  for  you  during  the  remainder 
of  the  tour." 

Simmonds,  no  courtier,  grinned  broadly,  and  even 
Dale  winked  at  the  North  Star;  Medenham  had 
steeled  himself  against  such  manifestations  of  crude 
opinion — his  face  was  impassive  as  that  of  a  graven 
image. 

"  Of  course  I'll  oblige  you  in  that  way,  my  lord. 
Who  wouldn't  ?  "  came  the  slow  reply. 


142 


CHAPTER  VH 

WHEREIN   CYNTHIA   TAKES   HER  OWN  IJNE 

WHEN  the  Mercury,  shining  from  Dale's  atten- 
tions, halted  noiselessly  opposite  the  College  Green 
Hotel  on  the  Saturday  morning,  Count  Edouard 
Marigny  was  standing  there ;  the  Du  Vallon  was  not 
in  evidence,  and  its  owner's  attire  bespoke  other  aims 
than  motoring,  at  any  rate  for  the  hour. 

Evidently  he  was  well  content  with  himself.  A 
straw  hat  was  set  on  the  back  of  his  head,  a  cigarette 
stuck  between  his  lips,  his  hands  were  thrust  into 
his  trousers  pockets,  and  his  feet  were  spread  widely 
apart.  Taken  altogether,  he  had  the  air  of  a  man 
without  a  care  in  the  world. 

He  smiled,  too,  in  the  most  friendly  fashion,  when 
Medenham's  eyes  met  his. 

"  I  hear  that  Simmonds  is  unable  to  carry  out 
his  contract,"  he  said  cheerfully. 

"  You  are  mistaken,  a  second  time,  monsieur,"  said 
Medenham. 

"  Why,  then,  are  you  here  this  morning?  " 

*'  I  am  acting  for  Simmonds.  If  anything,  my 
car  is  slightly  superior  to  his,  while  I  may  be  re- 

143 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

garded  as  an  equally  competent  driver,  so  the  con- 
tract is  kept  in  all  essentials." 

Marigny  still  smiled.  The  Frenchman  of  mid- 
Victorian  romance  would  have  shelved  this  point  by 
indulging  in  "  an  inimitable  shrug  " ;  but  nowadays 
Parisians  of  the  Count's  type  do  not  shrug — with 
John  Bull's  clothing  they  have  adopted  no  small  share 
of  his  stolidness. 

"  It  is  immaterial,"  he  said.  "  I  have  sent  my  man 
to  offer  him  my  Du  Vallon,  and  Smith  will  go  with 
him  to  explain  its  humors.  You,  as  a  skilled  motor- 
ist, understand  that  a  car  is  of  the  feminine  gender. 
Like  any  other  charming  demoiselle,  it  demands  the 
exercise  of  tact — it  yields  willingly  to  gentle  han- 
dling  " 

Medenham  cut  short  the  Count's  neatly  turned 
phrases. 

"  Simmonds  has  no  need  to  avail  himself  of  your 
courtesy,"  he  said.  "  As  for  the  rest,  give  me  your 
address  in  Paris,  and  when  next  I  visit  the  French 
capital  I  shall  be  delighted  to  analyze  these  subtleties 
with  you." 

"  Ah,  most  admirable !  But  the  really  vital  ques- 
tion before  us  to-day  is  your  address  in  London, 
Mr.  Fitzroy." 

Marigny  dwelt  on  the  surname  as  if  it  were  a 
succulent  oyster,  and,  in  the  undeniable  surprise  of 
the  moment,  Medenham  was  forced  to  believe  that 
**  Captain  "  Devar,  formerly  of  Horton's  Horse,  had 
dared  all  by  telling  his  confederate  the  truth,  or  some 

144 


Wherein  Cynthia  Takes  Her  Own  Line 

part  of  the  truth.  The  two  men  looked  squarely 
at  each  other,  and  Marigny  did  not  fail  to  misin- 
terpret the  dubious  frown  on  Medenham's  face. 

He  descended  a  step  or  two,  and  crossed  the  pave- 
ment leisurely,  dropping  his  voice  so  that  it  might 
not  reach  the  ears  of  a  porter,  laden  with  the 
ladies'  traveling  boxes,  who  appeared  in  the 
doorway. 

"  Why  should  we  quarrel  ?  "  he  asked,  with  an 
engaging  frankness  well  calculated  to  reassure  a 
startled  evildoer.  "  In  this  matter  I  am  anxious 
to  treat  you  as  a  gentleman.  Allans,  done!  Hurry 
off  instantly,  and  tell  Simmonds  to  bring  the  Du 
Vallon  here.  Leave  me  to  explain  everything  to 
Miss  Vanrenen.  Surely  you  agree  that  she  ought 
to  be  spared  the  unpleasantness  of  a  wrangle — or, 
shall  we  say,  an  exposure?  You  see,"  he  continued 
with  a  trifle  more  animation,  and  speaking  in  French, 
"  the  game  is  not  worth  the  candle.  In  a  few  hours, 
at  the  least,  you  will  be  in  the  hands  of  the  police, 
whereas,  by  reaching  London  to-night,  you  may  be 
able  to  pacify  the  Earl  of  Fairholme.  I  can  help, 
perhaps.  I  will  say  all  that  is  possible,  and  my 
testimony  ought  to  carry  some  weight." 

Medenham  was  thoroughly  mystified.  That  the 
Frenchman  was  not  yet  aware  of  his  identity  was 
now  clear  enough,  though,  with  Devar's  probable 
duplicity  still  running  in  his  mind,  he  could  not 
solve  the  puzzle  presented  by  this  vaunted  half-knowl- 
edge. 

145 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

Again  the  other  attributed  his  perplexity  to  any- 
thing except  its  real  cause. 

"  I  am  willing  to  befriend  you,"  he  urged  em- 
phatically. "  You  have  acted  foolishly,  but  not 
criminally,  I  hope.  In  your  anxiety  to  help  a  col- 
league you  forgot  the  fine  distinction  which  the  law 
draws  between  meum  and  tuum " 

"  No,"  said  Medenham,  turning  to  the  porter. 
"  Put  the  larger  box  on  the  carrier,  and  strap  the 
other  on  top  of  it — the  locks  outwards.  Then  you 
will  find  that  they  fit  exactly." 

"  Don't  be  a  headstrong  idiot,"  muttered  the 
Count,  with  a  certain  heat  of  annoyance  making  it- 
self felt  in  his  patronizing  tone.  "  Miss  Vanrenen 
will  come  out  at  any  minute " 

Medenham  glanced  at  the  clock  by  the  side  of  the 
speed  indicator. 

"  Miss  Vanrenen  is  due  now  unless  she  is  being 
purposely  detained  by  Mrs.  Devar,"  he  commented 
dryly. 

"  But  why  persist  in  this  piece  of  folly?  "  growled 
Marigny,  to  whose  reluctant  consciousness  the  idea 
of  failure  suddenly  presented  itself.  "  You  must 
realize  by  this  time  that  I  know  who  owns  your  car. 
A  telegram  from  me  will  put  the  authorities  on  your 
track,  your  arrest  will  follow,  and  Miss  Vanrenen 
will  be  subjected  to  the  gravest  inconvenience.  Sacre 
nom  d'un  pipe!  If  you  will  not  yield  to  fair 
means  I  must  resort  to  foul.  It  comes  to  this 
— you  either  quit  Bristol  at  once  or  I  inform 

146 


Wherein  Cynthia  Takes  Her  Own  Line 

Miss  Vanrenen  of  the  trick  you  have  played  on 
her." 

Medenhara  turned  and  picked  up  from  the  seat 
the  pair  of  stout  driving-gloves  which  had  caught 
Smith's  inquiring  eye  by  reason  of  their  quality  and 
substance.  He  drew  on  the  right-hand  glove,  and 
buttoned  it.  When  he  answered,  he  spoke  with  ir- 
ritating slowness. 

"  Would  it  not  be  better  for  all  concerned  that 
the  lady  in  whose  behalf  you  profess  to  be  so  deeply 
moved  should  be  permitted  to  continue  her  tour  with- 
out further  disturbance?  You  and  I  can  meet  in 
London,  monsieur,  and  I  shall  then  have  much  pleas- 
ure in  convincing  you  that  I  am  a  most  peaceable 
and  law-abiding  person." 

"  No,"  came  the  angry  retort.  "  I  have  decided. 
I  withdraw  my  offer  to  overlook  your  offense.  At 
whatever  cost,  Miss  Vanrenen  must  be  protected  until 
her  father  learns  how  his  wishes  have  been  disre- 
garded by  a  couple  of  English  bandits." 

"  Sorry,"  said  Medenham  coolly. 

He  alighted  in  the  roadway,  as  the  driving  seat 
was  near  the  curb.  A  glance  into  the  vestibule  of 
the  hotel  revealed  Cynthia,  in  motor  coat  and  veil, 
giving  some  instructions,  probably  with  regard  to 
letters,  to  a  deferential  hall-porter.  Walking  rap- 
idly round  the  front  of  the  car,  he  caught  Marigny's 
shoulder  with  his  left  hand. 

"  If  you  dare  to  open  your  mouth  in  Miss  Van- 
renen's  presence,  other  than  by  way  of  some  cora- 

147 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

monplace  remark,  I  shall  forthwith  smash  your  face 
to  a  jelly,"  he  said. 

A  queer  shiver  ran  through  the  Frenchman's  body, 
but  Medenham  did  not  commit  the  error  of  imagin- 
ing that  his  adversary  was  afraid.  His  grip  on 
Marigny's  shoulder  tightened.  The  two  were  now 
not  twelve  inches  apart,  and  the  Englishman  read 
that  involuntary  tension  of  the  muscles  aright,  for 
there  is  a  palsy  of  rage  as  of  fear. 

"  I  have  some  acquaintance  with  the  savate,"  he 
said  suavely.  "  Please  take  my  word  for  it,  and 
you  will  be  spared  an  injury.  A  moment  ago  you 
offered  to  treat  me  like  a  gentleman.  I  reciprocate 
now  by  being  willing  to  accept  your  promise  to  hold 
your  tongue.  Miss  Vanrenen  is  coming.  .  .  . 
What  say  you  ?  " 

"  I  agree,"  said  Marigny,  though  his  dark  eyes 
blazed  redly. 

"  Ah,  thanks !  "  and  Medenham's  left  hand  busied 
itself  once  more  with  the  fastening  of  the  glove. 

"  You  understand,  of  course?  "  he  heard,  in  a  soft 
snarl. 

"  Perfectly.  The  truce  ends  with  my  departure. 
Meanwhile,  you  are  acting  wisely.  I  don't  suppose 
I  shall  ever  respect  you  so  much  again." 

"  Now,  you  two — what  are  you  discussing?  "  cried 
Cynthia  from  the  porch.  "  I  hope  you  are  not  try- 
ing to  persuade  my  chauffeur  to  yield  his  place 
to  you,  Monsieur  Marigny.  Once  bitten,  twice 
shy,  you  know,  and  I  would  insist  on  check- 

148 


"Now,  you  two — what  are  you  discussing  ?" 


Pagt  14S 


Wherein  Cynthia  Takes  Her  Own  Line 

ing  each  mile  by  the  map  if  you  were  at  the 
wheel." 

"  Your  chauffeur  is  immovable,  mademoiselle,"  was 
the  ready  answer,  though  the  accompanying  smile  was 
not  one  of  the  Count's  best  efforts. 

"  He  looks  it.  Why  are  you  vexed,  Fitzroy  ? 
Can't  you  forgive  your  friend  Simmonds  ?  " 

Cynthia  lifted  those  demure  blue  eyes  of  hers,  and 
held  Medenham's  gaze  steadfast. 

"  I  trust  you  are  not  challenging  contradiction, 
Miss  Vanrenen?  "  he  said,  with  deliberate  resolve  not 
to  let  her  slip  back  thus  easily  into  the  role  of  gra- 
cious employer. 

She  did  not  flinch,  but  her  eyebrows  arched  a 
little. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said  offhandedly.  "  Simmonds  told 
me  his  misfortunes  last  night,  and  I  assumed  that 
you  and  he  had  settled  matters  satisfactorily  between 
you." 

"  As  for  that,"  broke  in  the  Count,  "  I  have  just 
offered  my  car  as  a  substitute,  but  Fitzroy  prefers 
to  take  you  as  far  as  Hereford,  at  any  cost." 

"  Hereford !  I  understood  from  Simmonds  that 
Mr.  Fitzroy  would  see  us  through  the  remainder  of 
the  tour?  " 

"  Monsieur  Marigny  is  somewhat  vague  in  our 
island  topography:  you  saw  that  last  evening,"  said 
Medenham. 

He  smiled.  Cynthia,  too,  glanced  from  one  to 
the  other  with  a  frank  merriment  that  showed  how 

149 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

fully  she  appreciated  their  mutual  dislike.  As  for 
Marigny,  his  white  teeth  gleamed  now  in  a  sarcastic 
grin. 

"  Adversity  is  a  strict  master,"  he  said,  lapsing 
into  his  own  language  again.  "  My  blunder  of  yes- 
terday has  shown  me  the  need  of  caution,  so  I  go 
no  farther  than  Hereford  in  my  thoughts." 

"  It  is  more  to  the  point  to  tell  us  how  far  you 
are  going  in  your  car,"  cried  the  girl  lightly. 

"  I,  too,  hope  to  be  in  Hereford  to-night.  Mrs. 
Devar  says  you  mean  to  spend  Sunday  there.  If 
that  is  a  fixed  thing,  and  you  can  bear  with  me  for 
a  few  hours,  I  shall  meet  you  there  without  fail." 

"  Come,  by  all  means,  if  your  road  lies  that  way ; 
but  don't  let  us  make  formal  engagements.  I  love 
to  think  that  I  am  drifting  at  will  through  this  land 
of  gardens  and  apple  blossom.  And,  just  think  of 
it — three  cathedrals  in  one  day — a  Minster  for  break- 
fast, lunch,  and  dinner,  with  Tintern  Abbey  thrown 
in  for  afternoon  tea.  Such  a  wealth  of  medievalism 
makes  my  head  reel.  ...  I  was  in  there  for  mat- 
ins," and  she  nodded  to  the  grave  old  pile  rearing 
its  massive  Gothic  within  a  few  paces  of  the  hotel. 
"  At  high  noon  we  shall  visit  Gloucester,  and  to- 
night we  shall  see  Hereford.  All  that  within  a  short 
hundred  miles,  to  say  nothing  of  Chepstow,  Mon- 
mouth,  the  Wye  Valley!  Ah,  me!  I  shall  never 
overtake  my  correspondence  while  there  are  so  many 
glories  to  describe.  See,  I  have  bought  some  darling 
little  guidebooks  which  tell  you  just  what  to  say 

150 


Wherein  Cynthia  Takes  Her  Own  Line 

in  a  letter.  What  between  judicious  extracts 
and  a  sheaf  of  picture  postcards  scribbled  at 
each  place  I'll  try  and  keep  my  friends  in 
good  humor." 

She  produced  from  a  pocket  three  of  the  red- 
covered  volumes  so  familiar  to  Americans  in  Britain 
— and  to  Britons  themselves,  for  that  matter,  when 
the  belated  discovery  is  made  that  it  is  not  necessary 
to  cross  the  Channel  in  order  to  enjoy  a  holiday — 
and  showed  them  laughingly  to  Medenham. 

"  Now,"  she  cried,  "  I  am  armed  against  you.  No 
longer  will  you  be  able  to  paralyze  me  with  your 
learning.  If  you  say  1269  at  Tintern  I  shall  retort 
with  1387  at  Monmouth.  When  you  point  out  Nell 
Gwynne's  birthplace  in  Hereford,  I  shall  take  you  to 
the  Haven  Inn,  where  David  Garrick  was  born,  and, 
if  you  aren't  very,  very  good,  I  shall  tell  you  how 
much  the  New  Town  Hall  cost,  and  who  laid  the 
foundation  stone." 

Medenham  alone  held  the  key  to  the  girl's  lively 
mood,  and  it  was  a  novel  and  quite  delightful  sen- 
sation to  be  thus  admitted  to  the  inner  shrine  of 
her  emotions,  as  it  were.  She  was  chattering  at 
random  in  order  to  smooth  away  the  awkwardness 
of  meeting  him  after  that  whispered  indiscretion  at 
their  parting  over-night.  Here,  at  least,  Marigny 
was  hopelessly  at  sea — desoriente,  as  he  would  have 
put  it — because  he  could  not  possibly  know  that 
Cynthia  herself  had  counseled  the  disappearance  of 
Simmonds.  Indeed,  he  attributed  her  high  spirits 

151 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

to  mere  politeness — to  her  wish  that  he  should  believe 
she  had  forgotten  the  fiasco  on  the  Mendips. 

This  imagined  salving  of  his  wounded  vanity  served 
only  to  inflame  him  the  more  against  Medenham. 
He  was  still  afire  with  resentment,  since  no  French- 
man can  understand  the  rude  Saxon  usage  that  en- 
forces submission  under  a  threat  of  physical  violence. 
That  a  man  should  be  ready  to  defend  his  honor — 
to  convince  an  opponent  by  endeavoring  to  kill  him 
— yes,  he  accepted  without  cavil  those  tenets  of  the 
French  social  code.  But  the  brutal  British  fixity 
of  purpose  displayed  by  this  truculent  chauffeur  left 
him  gasping  with  indignation.  He  was  quite  sure 
that  the  man  meant  exactly  what  he  had  said.  He 
felt  that  any  real  departure  from  the  compact  wrung 
from  him  by  force  would  prove  disastrous  to  his 
personal  appearance,  and  he  was  sensible  of  a  cer- 
tain weighing  underlook  in  the  Englishman's  eyes 
when  his  seemingly  harmless  chatter  hinted  at  a 
change  of  existing  plans  as  soon  as  Hereford  was 
reached. 

But  that  was  a  mere  feint,  a  preliminary  flourish, 
such  as  a  practiced  swordsman  executes  in  empty 
air  before  saluting  his  opponent.  He  had  not  the 
slightest  intention  of  testing  Medenham's  pugilistic 
powers  just  then.  The  reasonable  probability  of 
having  his  chief  features  beaten  to  a  pulp  was  not 
inviting,  while  the  crude  efficacy  of  the  notion,  in 
its  influence  on  Miss  Vanrenen's  affairs,  was  not  the 
least  stupefying  element  in  a  difficult  and  wholly 

152 


Wherein  Cynthia  Takes  Her  Own  Line 

unforeseen  situation.  He  realized  fully  that  any- 
thing in  the  nature  of  a  scuffle  would  alienate  the 
girl's  sympathies  forever,  no  matter  how  strong  a 
case  for  interference  he  might  present  afterwards. 
The  chauffeur  would  be  dismissed  on  the  spot,  but 
with  the  offender  would  go  his  own  prospect  of  win- 
ning the  heiress  to  the  Vanrenen  millions. 

So  Count  Edouard  swallowed  his  spleen,  though 
the  requisite  effort  must  have  dissipated  some  of  his 
natural  shrewdness,  or  he  could  not  have  failed  to 
read  more  correctly  the  tokens  of  embarrassment 
given  by  Cynthia's  heightened  color,  by  her  eager 
vivacity,  by  her  breathless  anxiety  not  to  discuss  the 
substitution  of  one  driver  for  the  other. 

Medenham  was  about  to  disclaim  any  intention  of 
measuring  his  lore  against  that  in  the  guidebooks 
when  Mrs.  Devar  bustled  out. 

"  Awfully  sorry,"  she  began,  "  but  I  had  to  wire 
James " 

Her  eyes  fell  on  Medenham  and  the  Mercury. 
Momentarily  rendered  speechless,  she  rallied  bravely. 

"  I  thought,  from  what  Count  Edouard  said " 

"  Miss  Vanrenen  has  lost  faith  in  me,  even  in  my 
beautiful  automobile,"  broke  in  Marigny  with  a 
quickness  that  spoiled  a  pathetic  glance  meant  for 
Cynthia. 

The  American  girl,  however,  was  weary  of  the 
fog  of  innuendo  and  hidden  purpose  that  seemed  to 
be  an  appanage  of  the  Frenchman  and  his  car. 

"  For  goodness'  sake,"  she  cried,  "  let  us  regard 

153 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

it  as  a  settled  thing  that  Fitzroy  takes  Simmonds's 
place  until  we  reach  London  again.  Surely  we  have 
the  best  of  the  bargain.  If  the  two  men  are  satis- 
fied why  should  we  have  anything  to  say  against  it  ?  " 

Cynthia  was  her  father's  daughter,  and  the  attri- 
bute of  personal  dominance  that  in  the  man's  case 
had  proved  so  effective  in  dealing  with  Milwaukees 
now  made  itself  felt  in  the  minor  question  of  "  trans- 
portation "  presented  by  Medenham  and  his  motor. 
Her  blue  eyes  hardened,  and  a  firm  note  rang  in 
her  voice.  Nor  did  Medenham  help  to  smooth  the 
path  for  Mrs.  Devar  by  saying  quietly : 

"  In  the  meantime,  Miss  Vanrenen,  the  information 
stored  in  those  little  red  books  is  growing  rusty." 

She  settled  the  dispute  at  once  by  asking  her 
companion  which  side  of  the  car  she  preferred,  and 
the  other  woman  was  compelled  to  say  graciously 
that  she  really  had  no  choice  in  the  matter,  but,  to 
avoid  further  delay,  would  take  the  left-hand  seat. 
Cynthia  followed,  and  Medenham,  still  ready  to  deal 
harshly  with  Marigny  if  necessary,  adjusted  their 
rugs,  saw  to  the  safe  disposal  of  the  camera,  and 
closed  the  door. 

At  that  instant,  the  hall-porter  hurried  down  the 
steps. 

"  Beg  pardon,  mum,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Devar, 
thrusting  an  open  telegram  between  Medenham  and 
Cynthia,  "  but  there's  one  word  here " 

She  snatched  the  form  angrily  from  his  out- 
stretched hand. 

154 


Wherein  Cynthia  Takes  Her  Own  Line 

"  Which  one?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  word  after " 

"  Come  round  this  side.  You  are  incommoding 
Miss  Vanrenen." 

The  man  obeyed.  With  the  curious  fatality  which 
attends  such  incidents,  even  among  well-bred  people, 
not  a  word  was  spoken  by  any  of  the  others.  To 
all  seeming,  Mrs.  Devar's  cramped  handwriting  might 
have  concealed  some  secret  of  gravest  import  to  each 
person  present.  It  was  not  really  so  thrilling  when 
heard. 

"  That  is  *  Raven,'  plain  enough  I  should  think," 
she  snapped. 

"  Thank  you,  mum.  '  The  Raven,  Shrewsbury,' '! 
read  the  hall-porter. 

Medenham  caught  Marigny's  eye.  He  was  minded 
to  laugh  outright,  but  forebore.  Then  he  sprang 
into  his  seat,  and  the  car  curled  in  quick  semicircle 
and  climbed  the  hill  to  the  left,  while  the  Frenchman, 
surprised  by  this  rapid  movement,  signaled  franti- 
cally to  Mrs.  Devar,  nodding  farewell,  that  they  had 
taken  the  wrong  road. 

"  Not  at  all,"  explained  Medenham.  "  I  want 
you  to  see  the  Clifton  Suspension  Bridge,  which  is 
a  hundred  feet  higher  in  the  air  than  the  Brooklyn 
Bridge." 

"  I'm  sure  it  isn't,"  cried  Cynthia  indignantly. 
"  The  next  thing  you  will  tell  me  is  that  the  Thames 
is  wider  than  the  Hudson." 

"  So  it  is,  at  an  equal  distance  from  the  sea." 

155 


Cynthia's  Chaufeur 

"  Well,  trot  out  your  bridge.  Seeing  is  believing, 
all  the  time." 

But  Cynthia  had  yet  to  learn  the  exceeding  wisdom 
of  Ezekiel  when  he  wrote  of  those  "  which  have  eyes 
to  see,  and  see  not,"  for  never  was  optical  delusion 
better  contrived  than  the  height  above  water  level 
of  the  fairylike  structure  that  spans  the  Avon  below 
Bristol.  The  reason  is  not  far  to  seek.  The  mind 
is  not  prepared  for  the  imminence  of  the  swaying 
roadway  that  leaps  from  side  to  side  of  that  tremen- 
dous gorge.  On  either  crest  are  pleasant  gardens, 
pretty  houses,  tree-shaded  paths,  and  the  opposing 
precipices  are  so  prompt  in  their  sheer  fall  that  the 
eye  insensibly  rests  on  the  upper  level  and  refuses 
to  dwell  on  the  river  far  beneath. 

So  Cynthia  was  charmed  but  not  convinced,  and 
Medenham  himself  could  scarce  believe  his  recollection 
that  the  tops  of  the  towers  of  the  far  larger  bridge 
at  Brooklyn  would  be  only  twenty-six  feet  higher 
than  the  roadway  at  Clifton.  Mrs.  Devar,  of  course, 
showed  an  utter  lack  of  interest  in  the  debate.  In- 
deed, she  refused  emphatically  to  walk  to  the  middle 
of  the  bridge,  on  the  plea  of  light-headedness,  and 
Cynthia  instantly  availed  herself  of  the  few  minutes' 
tete-a-tete  thus  vouchsafed. 

"  Now,"  said  she,  looking,  not  at  Medenham,  but 
at  the  Titanic  cleft  cut  by  a  tiny  river,  "  now,  please, 
tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  Just  as  at  Cheddar,  the  rocks  are  limestone " 

he  began. 

156 


Wherein  Cynthia  Takes  Her  Own  Line 

"  Oh,  bother  the  rocks !  How  did  you  get  rid  of 
Simmonds  ?  And  why  is  Count  Marigny  mad  ?  And 
are  you  mixed  up  in  Captain  Devar's  mighty  smart 
change  of  base?  Tell  me  everything.  I  hate  mys- 
teries. If  we  go  on  at  the  present  rate  some  of  us 
will  soon  be  wearing  masks  and  cloaks,  and  stamping 
our  feet,  and  saying  *  Ha !  Ha ! '  or  '  Sdeath ! '  or 
something  equally  absurd." 

"  Simmonds  is  a  victim  of  science.  If  the  earth 
wire  of  a  magneto  makes  a  metallic  contact  there  is 
trouble  in  the  cylinders,  so  Simmonds  is  switched  off 
until  he  can  locate  the  fault." 

"  The  work  of  a  minute." 

"  It  will  take  him  five  days  at  least." 

Then  Cynthia  did  flash  an  amused  glance  at  him, 
but  he  was  watching  a  small  steamer  puffing  against 
the  tide,  arid  his  face  was  adamant. 

"  Go  on,"  she  cried  quizzically.  "  What's  the 
matter  with  the  Count's  cylinders  ?  " 

"  He  professed  to  believe  that  I  had  stolen  some- 
body's car,  and  graciously  undertook  to  shield  me 
if  I  would  consent  to  run  away  at  once,  leaving 
you  and  Mrs.  Devar  to  finish  your  tour  in  the  Du 
Vallon." 

"  And  you  refused?  " 

"  Yes." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  Very  little ;  he  agreed." 

"  But  he  is  not  the  sort  of  person  who  turns  the 
other  cheek  to  the  smiter." 

157 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

"  I  didn't  smite  him,"  Medenham  blurted  out. 

Cynthia  fastened  on  to  the  hesitating  denial  with 
the  hawklike  pounce  of  some  barrister  famous  for 
merciless  cross-examination  of  a  hostile  witness. 

"  Did  you  offer  to  ?  "  she  asked. 

"We  dealt  with  possible  eventualities,"  he  said 
weakly. 

"  I  knew  it.  ...  There  was  such  a  funny  look 
in  your  eyes  when  I  first  saw  you.  ..." 

"  Funny  is  the  right  word.  The  crisis  was  rather 
humorous." 

"  Poor  man,  he  only  wished  to  be  civil,  perhaps — 
I  mean,  that  is,  in  lending  his  car ;  and  he  may  really 
have  thought  you — you  were  not  a  chauffeur — like 
Simmonds,  or  Smith,  for  example.  You  wouldn't 
have  hit  him,  of  course?  " 

"  I  sincerely  hope  not." 

She  caught  her  breath  and  peered  at  him  again, 
and  there  was  a  light  in  her  eyes  that  would  have 
infuriated  Marigny  had  he  seen  it.  It  was  well, 
too,  that  Medenham's  head  was  averted,  since  he 
simply  dared  not  meet  her  frankly  inquisitive  gaze. 

"  You  know  that  such  a  thing  would  be  horrid 
for  me — for  all  of  us,"  she  persisted. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  feel  that  very  keenly.  Thank 
goodness,  the  Frenchman  felt  it  also." 

Cynthia  thought  fit  to  skip  to  the  third  item  in 
her  list. 

"  Now  as  to  Captain  Devar  ?  "  she  cried.  "  His 
mother  is  dreadfully  annoyed.  She  hates  dull  even- 

158 


Wherein  Cynthia  Takes  Her  Own  Line 

ings,  and  the  four  of  us  were  to  play  bridge  to-night 
at  Hereford.  Why  was  he  sent  away  ?  " 

"  Sent  away  ?  "  echoed  Medenham  in  mock  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Oh,  come,  you  knew  him  quite  well.  You  said 
so  in  London.  I  am  not  exactly  the  silly  young 
thing  I  look,  Mr.  Fitzroy,  and  Count  Marigny's 
coincidences  are  a  trifle  far-fetched.  Both  he  and 
Captain  Devar  fully  understood  what  they  were  do- 
ing when  they  arranged  to  meet  in  Bristol,  and  some- 
body must  have  fired  a  very  big  gun  quite  close  to 
the  fat  little  man  that  he  should  be  scared  off  the 
instant  he  set  eyes  on  me." 

Then  Medenham  resolved  to  end  a  catechism  that 
opened  up  illimitable  vistas,  for  he  did  not  want  to 
lose  Cynthia  just  yet,  and  there  was  no  knowing 
what  she  might  do  if  she  suspected  the  truth.  Al- 
though, if  the  situation  were  strictly  dissected,  Mrs. 
Devar's  chaperonage  was  as  useful  to  him  as  the 
lady  herself  intended  it  to  be  to  Marigny,  there  was 
a  vital  difference  between  the  two  sets  of  circum- 
stances. He  had  been  pitchforked  by  fate  into  the 
company  of  a  charming  girl  whom  he  was  learning 
to  love  as  he  had  never  loved  woman  before,  whereas 
the  members  of  the  money-hunting  gang  whose 
scheme  he  had  accidentally  overheard  at  Brighton 
were  engaged  in  a  deliberate  intrigue,  outlined  in 
Paris  as  soon  as  Mr.  Vanrenen  planned  the  motor 
tour  for  his  daughter,  and  perfected  during  Cynthia's 
brief  stay  in  London. 

159 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

So  he  appealed  for  her  forbearance  on  a  plea  that 
he  imagined  was  sure  to  succeed. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  conceal  from  you  that  Captain 
Devar  and  I  have  fallen  out  in  the  past,"  he  said. 
"  But  I  am  genuinely  sorry  for  his  mother,  who  cer- 
tainly does  not  know  what  a  rascal  he  is.  Don't 
ask  me  for  further  details  now,  Miss  Vanrenen.  He 
will  not  cross  your  path  in  the  near  future,  and  I 
promise  to  tell  you  the  whole  story  long  before  there 
is  any  chance  of  your  meeting  him  again." 

For  some  reason,  deep  hidden  yet  delicately  dis- 
tinct, Cynthia  extracted  a  good  deal  more  from  that 
simple  speech  than  the  mere  words  implied.  The 
air  of  the  downs  was  peculiarly  fresh  and  strong  in 
the  center  of  the  bridge,  a  fact  which  probably  ac- 
counted for  the  vivid  color  that  lit  her  face  and  added 
luster  to  her  bright  eyes.  At  any  rate,  she  dropped 
the  conversation  suddenly. 

"  Mrs.  Devar  will  be  growing  quite  impatient,"  she 
said,  with  an  admirable  assumption  of  ease,  "  and 
I  want  to  bu}r  some  pictures  of  this  pretty  toy  bridge 
of  yours.  What  a  pity  the  light  is  altogether  wrong 
for  a  snapshot,  and  it  is  so  stupid  to  use  films  when 
one  knows  that  the  sun  is  in  the  camera !  " 

Whereat  Medenham  breathed  freely  again,  while 
thanking  the  gods  for  the  delightfully  effective  re- 
sources that  every  woman — even  a  candid,  outspoken 
Cynthia — has  at  her  fingers'  ends. 

The  simplest  means  of  reaching  the  Gloucester 
road  was  to  run  back  past  the  hotel,  but  the  goddess 

160 


Wherein  Cynthia  Takes  Her  Own  Line 

of  happy  chance  elected,  for  her  own  purposes,  that 
Medenham  should  ask  a  policeman  to  direct  him  to 
Cabot's  Tower,  and,  the  man  having  the  brain  of  a 
surveyor,  he  was  sent  through  by-streets  that  saved  a 
few  yards,  perhaps,  but  cost  him  many  minutes  in 
stopping  to  inquire  the  way.  Hence,  he  missed  an 
amazing  sight.  The  merest  glimpse  of  Count  Edou- 
ard  Marigny's  new  acquaintance  would  surely  have 
pulled  him  up,  if  it  did  not  put  an  end  to  the  tour 
forthwith.  But  that  was  not  to  be.  Blissfully  un- 
conscious of  the  fact  that  the  Frenchman  was  eagerly 
explaining  to  a  dignified  yet  strangely  perturbed  old 
gentleman  that  the  car  Number  X  L  4000 — contain- 
ing a  young  American  lady  and  her  friend,  and  driven 
by  a  conceited  puppy  of  a  chauffeur  who  suffered 
badly  from  tete  montee — had  just  gone  up  the  hill  to 
the  left,  Medenham  at  last  reached  the  open  road, 
and  the  Mercury  leaped  forward  as  if  Gloucester 
would  hardly  wait  till  it  arrived  there. 

The  old  gentleman  had  only  that  minute  alighted 
from  a  station  cab,  and  a  question  he  addressed  to 
the  hall-porter  led  that  civil  functionary  to  refer  him 
to  Marigny  "  as  a  friend  of  the  parties  concerned." 

But  the  newcomer  drew  himself  up  somewhat  stiffly 
when  the  foreign  personage  spoke  of  Medenham  as  a 

"puppy." 

"  Before  our  conversation  proceeds  any  farther  I 
think  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  I  am  the  Earl  of 
Fairholme  and  that  Viscount  Medenham  is  my  son," 
he  said. 

161 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

Marigny  looked  so  blank  at  this  that  the  Earl's 
explanation  took  fresh  shape. 

"  I  mean,"  he  went  on,  perceiving  that  his  hearer 
was  none  the  wiser,  "  I  mean  that  the  chauffeur  you 
allude  to  is  Viscount  Medenham." 

Marigny,  though  born  on  the  banks  of  the  Loire, 
was  a  Southern  Frenchman  by  descent,  and  the 
hereditary  tint  of  olive  in  his  skin  became  prominent 
only  when  his  emotions  were  aroused.  Now  the  pink 
and  white  of  his  complexion  was  tinged  with  yellow- 
ish-green. Never  before  in  his  life  had  he  been  quite 
so  surprised — never. 

"  He — he  said  his  name  was  Fitzroy,"  was  all  he 
could  gasp. 

"  So  it  is — the  dog.  Took  the  family  name  and 
dropped  his  title  in  order  to  go  gallivanting  about 
the  country  with  this  young  person  .  .  .  An  Amer- 
ican, I  am  told — and  with  that  detestable  creature, 
Mrs.  Devar !  Nice  thing !  No  wonder  Lady  Porth- 
cawl  was  shocked.  May  I  ask,  sir,  who  you 
are?" 

Lord  Fairholme  was  very  angry,  and  not  without 
good  reason.  He  had  traveled  from  London  at  an 
absurdly  early  hour  in  response  to  the  urgent  repre- 
sentations of  Susan,  Lady  St.  Maur,  to  whom  her 
•intimate  friend,  Millicent  Porthcawl,  had  written  a 
thrilling  account  of  the  goings-on  at  Bournemouth. 
It  happened  that  the  Countess  of  Porthcawl's  bed- 
room overlooked  the  carriage-way  in  front  of  the 
Royal  Bath  Hotel,  and,  when  she  recovered  from 

162 


Wherein  Cynthia  Takes  Her  Own  Line 

the  stupor  of  recognizing  Medenham  in  the  chauffeur 
of  the  Vanrenen  equipage,  she  gratified  her  spite 
by  sending  a  lively  and  wholly  distorted  version  of 
the  tour  to  his  aunt. 

The  letter  reached  Curzon  Street  during  the  after- 
noon, and  exercised  a  remarkably  restorative  effect 
on  the  now  convalescent  lover  of  forced  strawberries. 
Lady  St.  Maur  ordered  her  carriage,  and  was  driven 
in  a  jiffy  to  the  Fairholme  mansion  in  Cavendish 
Square,  where  she  and  her  brother  indulged  in  the 
most  lugubrious  opinions  as  to  the  future  of  "  poor 
George."  They  assumed  that  he  would  fall  an  easy 
prey  to  the  wiles  of  a  "designing  American."  Neither 
of  them  had  met  many  citizens  of  the  United  States, 
and  each  shared  to  the  fullest  extent  the  common 
British  dislike  of  every  person  and  every  thing  that 
is  new  and  strange,  so  they  had  visions  of  a  Countess 
of  Fairholme  who  would  speak  in  the  weird  tongue 
of  Chicago,  whose  name  would  be  "  Mamie,"  who 
would  call  the  earl  "  poppa  number  two,"  and  prefix 
every  utterance  with  "  Say,"  or  "  My  land !  " 

Both  brother  and  sister  had  laughed  many  a  time 
at  the  stage  version  of  a  Briton  as  presented  in  Paris, 
but  they  forgot  that  the  average  Englishman's  con- 
ception of  the  average  American  is  equally  ludicrous 
in  its  blunders.  In  devising  means  "  to  save  George  " 
they  flew  into  a  panic.  Lady  St.  Maur  telegraphed 
a  frantic  appeal  to  Lady  Porthcawl  for  information, 
but  "  dear  Millicent  "  took  thought,  saw  that  she  was 
already  sufficiently  committed,  and  caused  her  maid 

163 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

to  reply  that  she  had  left  Bournemouth  for  the  week- 
end. 

A  telegram  to  the  hotel  manager  produced  more 
definite  news.  Cynthia,  providing  against  the  re- 
ceipt of  any  urgent  message  from  her  father,  had 
given  the  College  Green  Hotel  as  her  address  for 
the  night;  but  this  intelligence  arrived  too  late  to 
permit  of  the  Earl's  departure  till  next  morning. 
Lady  Porthcawl's  hint  that  the  "  devoted  George 
was  traveling  incognito  "  prevented  the  use  of  wire 
or  post.  If  the  infatuated  viscount  were  to  be 
brought  to  reason  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  that 
the  Earl  should  hurry  to  Bristol  by  an  early  train 
next  morning.  He  did  hurry,  and  arrived  five  min- 
utes too  late. 

Marigny,  of  course,  saw  that  lightning  had  darted 
from  a  summer  sky.  If  the  despised  chauffeur  had 
proved  such  a  tough  opponent,  what  would  happen 
now  that  he  turned  out  to  be  a  sprig  of  the  aristoc- 
racy? He  guessed  at  once  that  the  Earl  of  Fair- 
holme  appraised  Cynthia  Vanrenen  by  the  Devar 
standard.  He  knew  that  five  minutes  in  Cynthia's 
company  would  alter  this  doughty  old  gentleman's 
views  so  greatly  that  his  present  fury  would  give 
place  to  idolatry.  No  matter  what  the  cost,  they 
two  must  not  meet,  and  it  was  very  evident  that  if 
Hereford  were  mentioned  as  the  night's  rendezvous, 
the  Earl  would  proceed  there  by  the  next  train. 

What  was  to  be  done?  He  decided  promptly. 
Lifting  his  hat,  and  offering  Lord  Fairholme  his 

164 


Wherein  Cynthia  Takes  Her  Own  Line 

card,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  lie,  and  lie  speciously, 
with  circumstantial  detail  and  convincing  knowledge. 

"  I  happened  to  meet  the  Vanrenens  in  Paris,"  he 
said.  "  Business  brought  me  here,  and  I  was  sur- 
prised to  see  Miss  Vanrenen  without  her  father.  You 
will  pardon  my  reference  to  your  son,  I  am  sure. 
His  attitude  is  explicable  now.  He  resented  my  offer 
of  friendly  assistance  to  the  young  lady.  Perhaps 
he  thought  she  might  avail  herself  of  it." 

"  Assistance?     What  is  the  matter?  " 

"  She  had  arranged  for  a  car  to  meet  her  here. 
As  it  was  not  forthcoming,  she  altered  her  plans  for 
a  tour  of  Oxford,  Kenilworth,  and  Warwick,  and  has 
gone  in  Viscount — Viscount " 

"  Medenham's." 

"  Ah,  yes — I  did  not  catch  the  name  precisely — 
in  your  son's  car  to  London." 

By  this  time  Lord  Fairholme  had  ascertained  the 
Frenchman's  description,  and  he  was  sufficiently  well 
acquainted  with  the  Valley  of  the  Loire  to  recollect 
the  Chateau  Marigny  as  a  house  of  some  importance. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  if  I 
seemed  to  speak  brusquely  at  first,"  he  said,  "  but 
we  all  appear  to  be  mixed  up  in  a  comedy  of  errors. 
I  remember  now  that  my  son  telegraphed  from  Brigh- 
ton to  say  that  he  would  return  to-day.  Perhaps 
my  journey  from  town  was  unnecessary,  and  he  may 
be  only  engaged  in  some  harmless  escapade  that  is 
now  nearing  its  end.  I  am  very  much  obliged  to 
you,  and — er— -I  hope  you  will  call  when  next  you  are 

165 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

in  London.  You  know  my  name — my  place  is  in 
Cavendish  Square.  Good-day." 

So  Marigny  was  left  a  second  time  on  the  steps 
of  the  hotel,  while  the  cab  which  brought  the  Earl 
of  Fairholme  from  the  railway  station  took  him  back 
to  it. 

The  Du  Vallon  came  panting  from  the  garage, 
but  the  Frenchman  sent  it  away  again.  Hereford 
was  no  great  distance  by  the  direct  road,  and  he 
had  already  determined  not  to  follow  the  tortuous 
route  devised  by  Cynthia  for  the  day's  run.  More- 
over, he  must  now  reconsider  his  schemes.  The  long 
telegrams  which  he  had  just  dispatched  to  Devar  in 
London  and  to  Peter  Vanrenen  in  Paris  might  de- 
mand supplements. 

And  to  think  of  that  accursed  chauffeur  being  a 
viscount!  His  gorge  rose  at  that.  The  thought 
almost  choked  him.  It  was  well  that  the  hall-porter 
did  not  understand  French,  or  the  words  that  were 
muttered  by  Marigny  as  he  turned  on  his  heel  and 
re-entered  the  hotel  might  have  shocked  him.  And, 
indeed,  they  were  most  unsuited  for  the  ears  of  a 
hall-porter  who  dwelt  next  door  to  a  cathedral. 


166 


CHAPTER  VIH 

BREAKERS    AHEAD 

THE  Earl's  title-borrowing  from  Shakespeare  was 
certainly  justified  by  current  events,  for  Dromio  of 
Ephesus  and  Dromio  of  Syracuse,  to  say  nothing  of 
their  masters,  were  no  bad  prototypes  of  the  chief 
actors  in  this  Bristol  comedy. 

Simmonds,  not  knowing  who  might  have  it  in  mind 
to  investigate  the  latest  defect  in  his  car,  decided 
it  would  be  wise  to  disappear  until  Viscount  Meden- 
ham  was  well  quit  of  Bristol.  By  arrangement  with 
Dale,  therefore,  he  picked  up  the  latter  soon  after 
the  Mercury  was  turned  over  to  Medenham's  hands ; 
in  effect,  the  one  chauffeur  took  the  other  on  a  'bus- 
driver's  holiday.  Dale  was  free  until  two  o'clock. 
At  that  hour  he  would  depart  for  Hereford  and 
meet  his  master,  with  arrangements  made  for  the 
night  as  usual;  meanwhile,  the  day's  programme  in- 
cluded a  pleasant  little  run  to  Bath  and  back. 

It  was  a  morning  that  tempted  to  the  road,  but 
both  men  had  risen  early,  and  a  pint  of  bitter  seemed 
to  be  an  almost  indispensable  preliminary.  From 
Bristol  to  Bath  is  no  distance  to  speak  of,  so  a  slight 

167 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

dallying  over  the  beer  led  to  an  exchange  of  recent 
news. 

Dale,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  of  sporting  bent, 
and  he  told  Simmonds  gleefully  of  his  successful  bet 
at  Epsom. 

"  Five  golden  quidlets  his  lordship  shoved  into  me 
fist  at  Brighton,"  he  chortled.  "  Have  you  met 
Smith,  who  is  lookin'  after  the  Frenchman's  Du  Val- 
lon?  No?  Well,  he  was  there,  an'  his  goggles 
nearly  cracked  when  he  sawr  the  money  paid — two 
points  over  the  market  price,  an'  all." 

"  Sometimes  one  spots  a  winner  by  chanst,"  ob- 
served Simmonds  judicially.  "An'  that  reminds  me. 
Last  night  a  fella  tole  me  there  was  a  good  thing 
at  Kempton  to-day.  .  .  .  Now,  what  was  it  ?  " 

Dale  instantly  became  a  lexicon  of  weird-sounding 
words,  for  the  British  turf  is  exceedingly  democratic 
in  its  pronunciation  of  the  classical  and  foreign  names 
frequently  given  to  racehorses.  His  stock  of  racing 
lore  was  eked  out  by  reference  to  a  local  paper;  still 
Simmonds  scratched  an  uncertain  pate. 

"  Pity,  too !  "  he  said  at  last.  "  This  chap  had 
it  from  his  nevvy,  who  married  the  sister  of  a  house- 
maid at  Beckhampton." 

Dale  whistled.  Here  was  news,  indeed.  Beck- 
hampton !  the  home  of  "  good  things.'* 

"Is  that  where  it  comes  from?" 

"  Yes.      Something  real  hot  over  a  mile." 

"  Can't  you  think?  Let's  look  again  at  the  en- 
tries." 

168 


Breakers  Ahead 

"  Wait  a  bit,"  cried  Simmonds.  "  I've  got  it  now. 
Second  horse  from  the  top  of  the  column  in  to-mor- 
row's entries  in  yesterday's  Sportsman" 

Dale  understood  exactly  what  the  other  man  meant, 
and,  so  long  as  he  understood,  the  fact  may  suffice 
for  the  rest  of  the  world. 

"  Tell  you  wot,"  he  suggested  eagerly,  "  when 
you're  ready  we'll  just  run  to  the  station  an'  arsk 
the  bookstall  people  for  yesterday's  paper." 

The  inquiry,  the  search,  the  triumphant  discovery, 
the  telegraphing  of  the  "  information  "  and  a  sov- 
ereign to  Tomkinson  in  Cavendish  Square — "  five  bob 
each  way  "  for  each  of  the  two — all  these  things 
took  time,  and  time  was  very  precious  to  Dale 
just  then.  Unhappily,  time  is  often  mute  as 
to  its  value,  and  Bath  is  really  quite  close  to 
Bristol. 

The  choice  secret  of  the  Beckhampton  stable  was 
safely  launched — in  its  speculative  element,  at  any 
rate — and  Dale  was  about  to  seat  himself  beside  Sim- 
monds, when  an  astonished  and  somewhat  irate  old 
gentleman  hooked  the  handle  of  an  umbrella  into  his 
collar  and  shouted: 

"  Confound  you,  Dale !  What  are  you  doing  here, 
and  where  is  your  master?  " 

Dale's  tanned  face  grew  pale,  his  ears  and  eyes 
assumed  the  semblance  of  a  scared  rabbit's,  and  the 
power  of  speech  positively  failed  him. 

"  Do  you  hear  me,  Dale  ?  "  cried  the  Earl,  that 
instant  alighted  from  a  cab.  "  I  am  asking  you 

169 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

where  Viscount  Medenham  is.       If  he  has  gone  to 
town,  why  have  you  remained  in  Bristol?  " 

"  But  his  lordship  hasn't  gone  to  London,  my 
lord,"  stuttered  Dale,  finding  his  voice  at  last,  and 
far  too  flustered  to  collect  his  wits,  though  he  realized 
in  a  dazed  way  that  it  was  his  duty  to  act  exactly 
as  Viscount  Medenham  would  wish  him  to  act  in  such 
trying  circumstances. 

And,  indeed,  many  very  clever  people  might  have 
found  themselves  sinking  in  some  such  unexpected 
quicksand  and  be  not  one  whit  less  bemused  than 
the  miserable  chauffeur.  Morally,  he  had  given  the 
only  possible  answer  that  left  open  a  way  of  escape, 
and  he  had  formed  a  sufficiently  shrewd  estimate  of 
the  relations  between  his  master  and  the  remarkably 
good-looking  young  lady  whom  the  said  master  was 
serving  with  exemplary  diligence  to  fear  dire  con- 
sequences to  himself  if  he  became  the  direct  cause 
of  a  broken  idyl.  The  position  was  even  worse  if 
he  fell  back  on  an  artistic  lie.  The  Earl  was  a  dour 
person  where  servants  were  concerned,  and  Salome 
did  not  demand  John  the  Baptist's  head  on  a  salver 
with  greater  gusto  than  the  autocrat  of  Fairholme 
would  insist  on  Dale's  dismissal  when  he  discovered 
the  facts.  Talk  of  the  horned  dilemma — here  was 
an  unfortunate  asked  to  choose  which  bristle  of  a 
porcupine  he  would  sit  upon. 

The  mere  presence  of  his  lordship  in  Bristol  be- 
tokened a  social  atmosphere  charged  with  electricity 
— a  phase  of  the  problem  that  constituted  the  only 

170 


Breakers  Ahead 

clear  item  in  Dale's  seething  brain:  it  was  too  much 
for  him;  in  sudden  desperation  he  determined  to 
stick  to  the  plain  truth. 

He  had  to  elect  very  quickly,  for  the  peppery- 
tempered  Earl  would  not  brook  delay. 

"  Not  gone  to  London,  you  say?  Then  where  the 
devil  lias  he  gone  to?  A  gentleman  at  the  hotel, 
a  French  gentleman,  who  said  he  had  met  these — 
these  persons  with  whom  my  son  is  gadding  about 
the  country,  told  me  that  they  had  left  Bristol  this 
morning  for  London,  because  a  car  that  was  ex- 
pected to  meet  them  here  had  broken  down." 

Suddenly  his  lordship,  a  county  magistrate  noted 
for  his  sharpness,  glanced  at  Simmonds.  He  marched 
round  to  the  front  of  the  car  and  saw  that  it  was 
registered  in  London.  He  waved  an  accusing  um- 
brella in  air. 

"  What  car  is  this  ?  Is  this  the  motor  that  won't 
go?  It  seems  to  have  reached  Bristol  all  right? 
Now,  my  men,  I  must  have  a  candid  tale  from  each 
of  you,  or  the  consequences  may  be  most  disagree- 
able. You,  I  presume,"  and  he  lunged  en  tierce  at 
Simmonds,  "  have  an  employer  of  some  sort,  and  I 
shall  make  it  my  business " 

"  This  is  my  own  car,  my  lord,"  said  Simmonds 
stiffly.  He  could  be  stubborn  as  any  member  of  the 
Upper  House  when  occasion  served.  "  Your  lord- 
ship needn't  use  any  threats.  Just  ask  me  what 
you  like  an'  I'll  answer,  if  I  can." 

Fairholme,  by  no  means  a  hasty  man  in  the  ordi- 

171 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

nary  affairs  of  life,  and  only  upset  now  by  the  un- 
foreseen annoyances  of  an  unusually  disquieting  mis- 
sion, realized  that  he  was  losing  caste.  It  was  a 
novel  experience  to  be  rebuked  by  a  chauffeur,  but  he 
had  the  sense  to  swallow  his  wrath. 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  to  explain  that  I  am  particu- 
larly anxious  to  see  Lord  Medenham,"  he  said  more 
calmly.  "  I  left  London  at  eight  o'clock  this  morn- 
ing, and  it  is  most  irritating  to  have  missed  him  by 
a  few  minutes.  I  only  wish  to  be  assured  as  to  his 
whereabouts,  and,  of  course,  I  have  no  reason  to 
believe  that  any  sort  of  responsibility  for  my  son's 
movements  rests  with  you." 

"  That's  all  right,  my  lord,"  said  Simmonds. 
""  Viscount  Medenham  was  very  kind  to  me  last 
Wednesday.  I  had  a  first-rate  job,  and  was  on 
my  way  to  the  Savoy  Hotel  to  take  it  up,  when  a 
van  ran  into  me  an'  smashed  the  transmission  shaft. 
His  lordship  met  me  in  Down  Street,  an'  offered  to 
run  my  two  ladies  to  Epsom  an'  along  the  south 
coast  for  a  day  or  two  while  I  repaired  damages. 
I  was  to  turn  up  here — an'  here  I  am — but  it  suited 
his  arrangements  better  to  go  on  with  the  tour,  an' 
that  is  all  there  is  to  it.  A  bit  of  a  joke,  I 
call  it." 

"  Yes,  my  lord,  that's  hit  hexactly,"  put  in  Dale, 
with  a  nervous  eagerness  that  demanded  the  help  of 
not  less  than  two  aspirates. 

The  Earl  managed  to  restrain  another  outburst. 

"  Nothing  to  cavil  at  so  far,"  he  said  with  forced 

172 


Breakers  Ahead 

composure.       "  The   only   point   that   remains   is — >•  | 
where  is  Lord  Medenham  now  ?  " 

"  Somewhere  between  here  an'  Gloucester,  my 
lord,"  said  Simmonds. 

"  Gloucester — that  is  not  on  the  way  to  London !  " 

No  reply;  neither  man  was  willing  to  bell  the  cat. 
Finding  Simmonds  a  tough  customer,  Fairholme 
tackled  Dale. 

"  Come,  come,  this  is  rather  absurd,"  he  cried. 
"  Fancy  my  son's  chauffeur  jibbing  at  my  questions! 
Once  and  for  all,  Dale,  where  shall  I  find  Lord  Meden- 
ham to-night?  " 

There  was  no  escape  now.  Dale  had  to  blurt  out 
the  fatal  word: 

"  Hereford !  " 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  lord.  I'm  goin'  there  with  his  lord- 
ship's portmanteaux." 

The  head  of  the  Fitzroy  clan  turned  to  Simmonds 
again. 

"  Will  you  drive  me  to  Gloucester?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  my  lord.  I'm  under  contract  to  remain 
in  Bristol  five  days." 

"  Very  well.  Stop  in  Bristol,  and  be  d — d  to  you. 
Is  there  any  reason  why  you  should  not  take  me  to 
pick  up  my  son's  belongings?  Then  Dale  and  I 
can  go  to  Hereford  by  train.  Viscount  Medenham 
is  devilish  particular  about  his  linen.  If  I  stick  to 
his  shirts  I  shall  meet  him  sometime  to-day,  I  sup- 


pose." 


173 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

Simmonds  sought  Dale's  counsel  by  an  undertook, 
but  that  hapless  sportsman  could  offer  no  suggestion, 
so  the  other  made  the  best  of  a  bad  business. 

"  I'll  do  that,  of  course,  my  lord,"  he  said  with 
alacrity.  "  Just  grab  his  lordship's  dressing-case 
from  that  porter  and  shove  it  inside,"  he  went 
on,  eying  Dale  fiercely,  well  knowing  that  the 
whole  collapse  arose  from  a  cause  but  too  easily 
traced. 

"  No,  no,"  broke  in  the  Earl,  whose  magisterial 
experiences  had  taught  him  the  wisdom  of  keeping 
witnesses  apart,  "  Dale  comes  with  me.  I  want  to 
sift  this  business  thoroughly.  Put  the  case  in  front. 
We  can  pile  the  other  luggage  on  top  of  it.  Now, 
Dale,  jump  inside.  Your  friend  knows  where  to  go, 
I  expect." 

Thus  did  two  bizarre  elements  intrude  themselves 
into  the  natural  order  of  things  on  that  fine  morning 
in  the  West  of  England.  The  very  shortness  of 
the  road  between  Bristol  and  Bath  apparently  offered 
an  insuperable  obstacle  to  the  passage  of  Simmonds's 
car  along  it,  and  some  unknown  "  chap,"  whose 
"  nevvy  "  had  married  the  sister  of  a  Beckhampton 
housemaid,  became  the  predominating  factor  in  a 
situation  that  affected  the  fortunes  of  several  notable 
people. 

For  his  part,  Lord  Fairholme  gave  no  further 
thought  to  Marigny.  It  did  not  even  occur  to  him 
it  might  be  advisable  to  call  again  at  the  College 
Green  Hotel,  since  Medenham  had  slept  elsewhere, 

174 


Breakers  Ahead 

and  Hereford  was  now  the  goal.  Certainly,  the 
Frenchman's  good  fairy  might  have  pushed  her  good 
offices  to  excess  by  permitting  him  to  see,  careering 
about  Bristol  with  a  pair  of  chauffeurs,  the  man 
whom  he  believed  to  be  then  on  the  way  to  London. 
But  fairies  are  unreliable  creatures,  apt  to  be  off 
with  a  hop,  skip,  and  a  jump,  and,  in  any  case, 
Marigny  was  writing  explicit  instructions  to  Devar, 
though  he  would  have  been  far  more  profitably  em- 
ployed in  lounging  outside  the  hotel. 

So  everybody  was  dissatisfied,  more  or  less,  the 
quaking  Dale  more,  perhaps,  than  any,  and  the  per- 
son who  had  absolutely  no  shadow  of  care  on  his 
soul  was  Medenham  himself,  at  that  moment  guiding 
the  Mercury  along  the  splendid  highway  that  con- 
nects Bristol  with  Gloucester — taking  the  run  lei- 
surely, too,  lest  Cynthia  should  miss  one  fleeting 
glimpse  of  the  ever-changing  beauties  of  the  Severn 
estuary. 

During  one  of  these  adagio  movements  by  the 
engine,  Cynthia,  who  had  been  consulting  a  guide- 
book, leaned  forward  with  a  smile  on  her  face. 

"  What  is  a  lamprey  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  A  special  variety  of  eel  which  has  a  habit  of 
sticking  to  stones  by  its  mouth,"  said  Medenham. 
Then  he  added,  after  a  pause :  "  Henry  the  First 
was  sixty-seven  years  of  age  when  he  died,  so  the  dish 
of  lampreys  was  perhaps  blamed  unjustly." 

"  You  have  a  good  memory,"  she  retorted. 

"  Oh,  is  that  in  your  book,  Miss  Vanrenen  ?     Well, 

175 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

here  is  another  fact  about  Gloucester.  Alfred  the 
Great  held  a  Witenagemot  there  in  896.  Do  you 
know  what  a  Witenagemot  is  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  a  smoking  concert." 

Mrs.  Devar  invariably  resented  these  bits  of  by- 
play, since  she  could  no  more  extract  their  meaning 
than  if  they  were  uttered  in  Choctaw. 

"  Some  very  good  people  live  in  Gloucestershire," 

she  put  in.  "  There  are  the "  She  began  to 

give  extracts  from  Burke's  "  Landed  Gentry,"  where- 
upon the  speedometer  index  sprang  to  forty-five,  and 
a  noble  fifteenth  century  tower  soon  lifted  its  stone 
lacework  above  the  trees  and  spires  of  the  ancient  city. 

Cynthia  wished  to  obtain  some  photographs  of  old 
inns,  so,  when  they  had  admired  the  cathedral,  and 
shuddered  at  the  memory  of  Richard  the  Third — 
who  wrote  at  Gloucester  the  order  to  Brackenbury 
for  the  murder  of  the  princes  in  the  Tower  of  Lon- 
don— and  smiled  at  Cromwell's  mordant  wit  in  saying 
that  the  place  had  more  churches  than  godliness 
when  told  of  the  local  proverb,  "  As  sure  as  God's 
in  Gloucester,"  Medenham  brought  them  to  North- 
gate  Street,  where  the  New  Inn — which  is  nearly 
always  the  most  antiquated  hostelry  in  an  English 
country-town — supplied  a  fine  example  of  massive 
timberwork,  with  courtyard  and  external  galleries. 

The  light  was  so  perfect  that  he  persuaded  Cynthia 
to  stand  in  a  doorway  and  let  him  take  a  picture. 
During  the  focusing  interval,  he  suggested  that  the 
day's  route  should  be  varied  by  leaving  the  coast 

176 


Breakers  Ahead 

road  at  Westbury  and  running  through  the  Forest 
of  Dean,  where  a  secluded  hotel  in  the  midst  of  a 
real  woodland  would  be  an  ideal  place  for  luncheon. 

She  agreed.  Something  in  his  tone  told  her  that 
Mrs.  Devar's  consent  to  the  arrangement  had  better 
be  taken  for  granted.  So  they  sped  through  the 
blossom-laden  lanes  of  Gloucestershire  to  the  leafy 
depths  of  the  Forest,  and  saw  the  High  Beeches,  and 
the  Old  Beech,  and  the  King's  Walk,  and  many  of 
the  gorgeous  vistas  that  those  twin  artists  Spring 
and  Summer  etched  on  the  wooded  undulations  of 
one  of  Britain's  most  delightful  landscapes ;  as  a 
fitting  sequel  to  a  run  through  fairyland  they  lunched 
at  the  Speech  House  Hotel,  where  once  the  skins 
of  daring  trespassers  on  the  King's  preserves  were 
wont  to  be  nailed  on  the  Court  House  door  by  the 
Verderers. 

It  was  Cynthia  who  pointed  the  moral. 

"  There  is  always  an  ogre's  cave  near  the  En- 
chanted Garden,"  she  said,  "  and  those  were  surely 
ogerish  days  when  men  were  flayed  alive  for  hunting 
the  King's  deer." 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  if  they  dawdled  some- 
what by  the  way,  when  that  way  led  past  Offa's 
Dyke,  through  Chepstow,  and  Tintern,  and  Mon- 
mouth,  and  Symon's  Yat.  Indeed,  Cynthia's  moods 
alternated  between  wide-eyed  enjoyment  and  sheer  re- 
gret, for  each  romantic  ruin  and  charming  country- 
side not  only  aroused  her  enthusiasm  but  evoked  a 
longing  to  remain  riveted  to  the  spot.  Yet  she  would 

177 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

not  be  a  woman  if  there  were  not  exceptions  to  this 
rule,  as  shall  be  seen  in  due  course. 

Mrs.  Devar,  perchance  tempted  by  the  word 
"  Castle,"  quitted  the  car  at  Chepstow,  and  climbed 
to  the  nail-studded  oak  door  of  one  of  the  most 
perfect  examples  of  a  Norman  stronghold  now  ex- 
tant. Once  committed  to  the  role  of  sightseer,  she 
was  compelled  to  adhere  to  it,  and  before  the  fourth 
court  was  reached,  had  she  known  the  story,  she 
would  have  sympathized  with  the  pilgrim  who  did  not 
boil  the  peas  in  his  shoes  of  penance.  Chepstow 
Castle  is  a  splendid  ruin,  but  its  steep  gradients  and 
rough  pavements  are  not  fitted  for  stout  ladies  who 
wear  tight  boots. 

To  make  matters  worse,  the  feelings  of  Cynthia's 
chaperon  soon  became  as  sore  as  her  toes.  The 
only  feature  of  Marten's  Tower  that  appealed  to 
her  was  its  diabolical  ingenuity  in  providing  oppor- 
tunities for  that  interfering  chauffeur  to  assist,  al- 
most to  lift,  Cynthia  from  one  mass  of  fallen  masonry 
to  another.  Though  she  knew  nothing  of  Henry 
Marten  she  reviled  his  memory.  She  heard  "  Fitz- 
roy  "  telling  her  wayward  charge  that  the  reformer 
really  hated  Charles  I.  because  the  King  called  him 
"  an  ugly  rascal "  in  public,  and  directed  that  he 
should  be  turned  out  of  Hyde  Park;  the  words  sup- 
plied a  cue. 

"  Pity  kings  are  not  as  powerful  nowadays,"  she 
snapped.  "  The  presumption  of  the  lower  orders  is 
becoming  intolerable." 

178 


Breakers  Ahead 

"  Unfortunately,  Marten  retaliated  by  signing  the 
King's  death  warrant,"  said  Medenham. 

"  Of  course.  What  else  could  one  expect  from  a 
person  of  his  class?  " 

"  But  Sir  Henry  Marten  was  a  celebrated  judge, 
and  the  son  of  a  baronet,  and  he  married  a  rich 
widow — these  are  not  the  prevalent  democratic  vices," 
persisted  Medenham. 

"  You  must  have  sat  up  half  the  night  reading  the 
guidebook,"  she  cried  in  vexation  at  her  blunder. 

Cynthia  laughed  so  cheerfully  that  Mrs.  Devar 
thought  she  had  scored.  Medenham  left  it  at  that, 
and  was  content.  Both  he  and  Cynthia  knew  that 
lack  of  space  forbade  indulgence  in  such  minor  de- 
tails of  history  on  the  part  of  the  book's  compiler. 

Another  little  incident  heated  Mrs.  Devar  to  boil- 
ing-point. Cynthia  more  than  once  hinted  that,  if 
tired,  she  might  wait  for  them  in  the  lowermost  court, 
where  a  fine  tree  spread  its  shade  over  some  benches, 
but  the  older  woman  persisted  in  visiting  every  dun- 
geon and  scrambling  up  every  broken  stair.  The 
girl  took  several  photographs,  and  had  reached  the 
last  film  in  a  roll,  when  the  whim  seized  her  to  pose 
Medenham  in  front  of  a  Norman  arch. 

"  You  look  rather  like  a  baron,"  she  said  glee- 
fully. "  I  wish  I  could  borrow  some  armor  and 
take  you  in  character  as  the  gentleman  who  built 
this  castle.  By  the  way,  his  name  was  Fitz-some- 
thing-or-other.  Was  he  a  relation  ?  " 

"  Fitz  Osborne,"  said  Medenham. 

179 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

"  Ah,  yes.     Fitzroy  means  King's  son,  doesn't  it?  " 

"  I — er — believe  so." 

"  Well,  I  can  imagine  you  scowling  out  of  a  vizor. 
It  would  suit  you  admirably." 

"  But  I  might  not  scowl." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  would.  Remember  this  morning. 
Just  force  yourself  to  think  for  a  moment  that  I  am 
Monsieur " 

She  stopped  abruptly. 

"  A  little  more  to  the  left,  please — and  turn  your 
face  to  the  sun.  There,  that  is  capital." 

"  Why  should  Fitzroy  scowl  at  the  recollection 
of  Count  Edouard  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Devar,  her  eyes 
devouring  the  telltale  blush  that  suffused  the  girl's 
face  and  neck. 

"  Only  because  the  Count  wished  to  supplant  him, 
as  our  chauffeur,"  came  the  ready  answer. 

"  I  thought  Monsieur  Marigny's  offer  a  very  cour- 
teous one." 

"  Undoubtedly.  But  as  I  had  to  decide  the  matter 
I  preferred  to  travel  in  a  car  that  was  at  my  own 
disposal." 

Mrs.  Devar  dared  not  go  farther.  She  relapsed 
into  a  sulky  silence.  She  said  not  a  word  when 
Cynthia  occupied  the  front  seat  for  the  climb  through 
Chepstow's  High  Street,  and  when  the  girl  turned 
to  call  her  attention  to  the  view  from  the  crest  of 
the  famous  Wyndcliff  she  was  nodding  asleep ! 

Cynthia  told  Medenham,  and  there  was  a  touch 
of  regret  in  her  voice. 

180 


Breakers  Ahead 

"  Poor  dear,"  she  said  in  an  undertone,  "  the  Castle 
was  too  much  for  her,  and  the  fresh  air  has  made  her 
drowsy." 

He  glanced  quickly  over  his  shoulder,  and  instantly 
made  up  his  mind  to  broach  a  project  that  he  had 
thought  out  carefully  since  his  quarrel  with  the 
Frenchman. 

"  You  mean  to  stay  in  Hereford  during  the  whole 
of  to-morrow,  Miss  Vanrenen?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes.  Somehow,  I  don't  see  myself  scampering 
across  the  map  on  the  British  Sabbath.  Besides, 
I  am  all  behindhand  with  my  letters,  and  my  father 
will  be  telegraphing  something  emphatic  if  I  don't 
go  beyond  '  Much  love '  on  a  picture  postcard." 

"  Symon's  Yat  is  exceptionally  beautiful,  and 
there  is  a  capital  little  hotel  there.  The  Wye  runs 
past  the  front  door,  the  boating  is  superb,  and  there 
will  be  a  brilliant  moon  after  dinner." 

"  And  the  answer  is  ?  " 

"  That  we  could  run  into  Hereford  before  break- 
fast, leaving  you  plenty  of  time  to  attend  the  morn- 
ing service  at  the  cathedral." 

Cynthia  did  not  look  at  him  or  she  would  have 
seen  that  he  was  rather  baronial  in  aspect  just  then. 
Sad  to  relate,  they  were  speeding  down  the  Wynd- 
cliff  gorge  without  giving  it  the  undisturbed  notice  it 
merited. 

"  I  have  a  kind  of  notion  that  Mrs.  Devar  wouldn't 
catch  on  to  the  boating  proposition,"  she  said 
thoughtfully. 

181 


Cynthias  Chauffeur 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  the  river  takes  a  wide  bend 
there,  and  she  could  see  us  from  the  hotel  veranda 
all  the  time." 

"  Guess  it  can't  be  fixed  up,  anyhow,"  she  sighed. 

Twice  had  she  lapsed  into  the  idioms  of  her  native 
land.  What,  then,  was  the  matter  with  Cynthia 
that  she  had  forgotten  her  self-imposed  resolution  to 
speak  only  in  that  purer  English  which  is  quite  as 
highly  appreciated  in  New  York  as  in  London? 

It  was  Saturday  afternoon,  and  they  overtook  and 
passed  a  break-load  of  beanfeasters  going  to  Tin- 
tern.  There  is  no  mob  so  cruelly  sarcastic  as  the 
British,  and  it  may  be  that  the  revelers  in  the  break 
envied  the  dusty  chauffeur  his  pretty  companion. 
At  any  rate,  they  greeted  the  passing  of  the  car  with 
jeers  and  cat-calls,  and  awoke  Mrs.  Devar.  It  is 
a  weakness  of  human  nature  to  endeavor  to  conceal 
the  fact  that  you  have  been  asleep  when  you  are 
supposed  to  be  awake,  so  she  leaned  forward  now, 
and  asked  nonchalantly : 

<k  Are  we  near  Hereford  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Cynthia.  "  We  have  a  long  way  to 
go  yet."  She  paused.  "  Are  you  really  very 
tired?  "  she  added,  as  an  afterthought. 

"  Yes,  dear.      The  air  is  positively  overpowering." 

There  was  another  pause. 

"  Ah,  well,"  sighed  the  girl,  "  we  shall  have  a 
nice  long  rest  when  we  stop  for  tea  at — at — what 
is  the  name  of  the  place  ?  " 

"  Symon's  Yat." 

182 


Breakers  Ahead 

Medenham's  voice  was  husky.  Truth  to  tell,  he 
was  rather  beside  himself.  He  had  played  for  a  high 
stake  and  had  nearly  won.  Even  now  the  issue  hung 
on  a  word,  a  mere  whiff  of  volition:  and  if  he  knew 
exactly  how  much  depended  on  that  swing  of  the 
balance  he  might  have  been  startled  into  a  more 
earnest  plea,  and  spoiled  everything. 

"  But  that  will  throw  us  late  in  arriving  at  Here- 
ford," said  Mrs.  Devar. 

"  Does  it  really  matter?  We  shall  be  there  all 
day  to-morrow." 

"  No,  it  is  of  no  consequence,  though  Count 
Edouard  said  he  would  meet  us  there." 

"  And  I  refused  to  pledge  myself  to  any  arrange- 
ment. In  fact,  I  would  much  prefer  that  his  count- 
ship  should  scorch  on  to  Liverpool  or  Manchester, 
or  wherever  he  happens  to  be  going." 

"  Oh,  Cynthia !  And  he  going  out  of  his  way  to 
be  so  friendly  and  agreeable !  " 

"  Well,  perhaps  that  was  an  unkind  thing  to  say. 
What  I  mean  is  that  we  must  feel  ourselves  at  liberty 
to  depart  from  a  cut-and-dried  schedule.  Half 
the  charm  of  wandering  through  England  in 
an  automobile  is  in  one's  freedom  from  time- 
tables." 

Back  dropped  Mrs.  Devar,  and  Medenham  recov- 
ered sufficient  self-control  to  point  out  to  Cynthia 
her  first  glimpse  of  the  gray  walls  that  vie  with 
Fountains  Abbey  and  Rievaulx  for  pride  of  place  as 
the  most  beautiful  ruin  in  England. 

183 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

Certainly  those  old  Cistercians  knew  how  and  where 
to  build  their  monasteries.  They  had  the  true  sense 
of  beauty,  whether  in  site  or  design,  and  at  Tintern 
they  chose  the  loveliest  nook  of  a  lovely  valley. 
Cynthia  silently  feasted  her  vision  on  each  new  pano- 
rama revealed  by  the  winding  road,  and  ever  the  gray 
Abbey  grew  more  distinct,  more  ornate,  more  com- 
pletely the  architectural  gem  of  an  entrancing  land- 
scape. 

But  disillusion  was  at  hand. 

Rounding  the  last  bend  of  the  descent,  the  Mer- 
cury purred  into  the  midst  of  a  collection  of  horsed 
vehicles  and  frayed  motors.  By  some  unhappy 
chance  the  whole  countryside  seemed  to  have  chosen 
Tintern  as  a  rendezvous  that  Saturday.  The  pa- 
trons of  a  neighboring  hotel  overflowed  into  the  road- 
way ;  the  brooding  peace  of  the  dead-and-gone  monks 
had  fled  before  this  invasion;  instead  of  memories 
of  mitered  abbots  and  cowled  friars  there  were  the 
realities  of  loud-voiced  grooms  and  porkpie-eating 
excursionists. 

"  Please  drive  on,"  whispered  Cynthia.  "  I  must 
see  Tintern  another  time." 

Although  Medenham  hoped  to  consume  a  precious 
hour  or  more  in  showing  her  the  noble  church,  the 
cloisters,  the  chapter-house,  the  monks'  parlor,  and 
the  rest  of  the  stone  records  of  a  quiet  monastic 
life,  he  realized  to  the  full  how  utterly  incongruous 
were  the  enthusiastic  trippers  with  their  surround- 
ings. The  car  threaded  their  ranks  gingerly,  and 

184 


Breakers  Ahead 

was  soon  running  free  along  the  tree-shaded  road  to 
Monmouth. 

Happily,  that  delightful  pld  town  was  sufficiently 
familiar  to  him  in  earlier  days  that  he  was  now 
able  to  supplement  the  general  knowledge  of  its  past 
gleaned  already  by  the  girl's  reading.  He  halted 
in  front  of  the  Welsh  Gate  on  Monnow  Bridge,  and 
told  her  that  although  the  venerable  curiosity  dates 
back  to  1270  it  is  nevertheless  the  last  defensive  work 
in  Britain  in  which  serious  preparations  were  made 
for  civil  war,  as  it  was  expected  that  the  Chartists 
would  march  from  Newport  to  attack  Monmouth 
Jail  in  1839. 

"  Six  hundred  years,"  mused  Cynthia  aloud.  "  If 
there  are  sermons  in  stones  what  a  history  is  pent 
in  these ! " 

"  And  how  greatly  it  would  differ  from  the  ac- 
cepted versions,"  laughed  Medenham. 

"  Do  we  never  know  the  truth,  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  if  we  are  actually  mixed  up  in  some 
affair  of  worldwide  importance,  but  that  is  precisely 
the  reason  why  the  actors  remain  dumb." 

Oddly  enough,  this  was  the  first  of  Medenham's 
utterances  that  Mrs.  Devar  approved  of. 

"  Evidently  you  have  moved  in  high  society,  Fitz- 
roy,"  she  chimed  in. 

"  Yes,  madam,"  he  said.  "  More  than  once,  when 
in  a  hurry,  I  have  run  madly  through  Mayfair." 

"  Oh,  nonsense ! "  she  cried,  resenting  the  studied 
civility  of  the  "  madam "  and  ruffled  by  the  quip, 

185 


Cynthias  Chauffeur 

"  you  speak  of  Mayfair,  yet  I  don't  suppose  you 
really  know  where  it  is." 

"  I  shall  never  forget  where  Down  Street  is,  I 
assure  you,"  he  said  cheerfully. 

"  And  pray,  why  Down  Street  in  particular?  " 

"  Because  that  is  where  I  met  Simmonds,  last 
Wednesday,  and  arranged  to  take  on  his  job." 

"  In  your  mind,  then,  it  figures  as  broken-down- 
street,"  cooed  Cynthia. 

After  that  the  Mercury  crossed  the  Monnow,  and 
Mrs.  Devar  muttered  something  about  the  mistake 
one  made  when  one  encouraged  servants  to  be  too 
familiar.  But  Cynthia  was  not  to  be  repressed.  She 
was  bubbling  over  with  high  spirits,  and  amused  her- 
self by  telling  Medenham  that  Henry  V.  was  bom 
at  Monmouth  and  afterwards  won  the  battle  of  Agin- 
court — "  scraps  of  history  not  generally  known,"  she 
confided  to  him. 

From  the  back  of  the  car  Mrs.  Devar  watched  them 
with  a  hawklike  intentness  that  showed  how  thor- 
oughly those  "  forty  winks  "  snatched  while  in  the 
Wyndcliff  had  restored  her  nagging  energies. 
Though  it  was  absurd  to  suppose  that  Cynthia  Van- 
renen,  daughter  of  a  millionaire,  a  girl  dowered  with 
all  that  happy  fortune  had  to  give,  would  so  far 
forget  her  social  position  as  to  flirt  with  the  chauf- 
feur of  a  hired  car,  this  experienced  marriage-broker 
did  not  fail  to  realize  what  a  stumbling-block  the 
dreadful  person  was  in  the  path  of  Count  Edouard 
Marigny. 

186 


Breakers  Ahead 

For  once  in  her  life,  "  Wiggy  "  Devar  forced  her- 
self to  think  clearly.  She  saw  that  "  Fitzroy  "  was 
a  man  who  might  prove  exceedingly  dangerous  where 
a  girl's  susceptible  heart  was  concerned.  He  had 
the  address  and  semblance  of  a  gentleman ;  he  seemed 
to  be  able  to  talk  some  jargon  of  history  and  litera- 
ture and  art  that  appealed  mightily  to  Cynthia; 
worst  of  all,  he  had  undoubtedly  ascertained,  by  some 
means  wholly  beyond  her  ken,  that  she  and  the 
Frenchman  were  in  league.  She  was  quite  in  the 
dark  as  to  the  cause  of  her  son's  extraordinary  be- 
havior the  previous  evening,  but  she  was  beginning 
to  suspect  that  this  meddlesome  Fitzroy  had  con- 
trived, somehow  or  other,  to  banish  Captain  Devar 
as  he  had  outwitted  Marigny  on  the  Mendips.  Tal- 
ented schemer  that  she  was,  she  did  not  believe  for 
a  moment  that  Simmonds  had  told  the  truth  at 
Bristol.  She  argued,  with  cold  logic,  that  the  man 
would  not  risk  the  loss  of  an  excellent  commission 
by  bringing  from  London  a  car  so  hopelessly  out 
of  repair  that  it  could  not  be  made  available  under 
four  or  five  days.  But  her  increasing  alarm  cen- 
tered chiefly  in  Cynthia's  attitude.  If,  by  her  al- 
lusion to  a  "  cut-and-dried  schedule,"  the  girl  im- 
plied a  design  to  depart  from  the  tour  planned  in 
London,  then  the  Count's  wooing  became  a  most  un- 
certain thing,  since  it  was  manifestly  out  of  the  ques- 
tion that  he  should  continue  to  waylay  them  at  stop- 
ping-places chosen  haphazard  during  each  day's  run. 

So  Mrs.  Devar  noted  with  a  malignant  eye  each 

187 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

friendly  glance  exchanged  by  the  couple  in  front, 
and  listened  to  the  snatches  of  their  talk  with  a 
malevolence  that  was  fanned  to  fury  by  their  obvious 
heedlessness  of  her  presence.  She  felt  that  the  crisis 
called  for  decisive  action.  There  was  only  one  per- 
son alive  to  whose  judgment  Cynthia  Vanrenen  would 
bow,  and  Mrs.  Devar  began  seriously  to  consider  the 
advisability  of  writing  to  Peter  Vanrenen. 

If  any  lingering  doubt  remained  in  her  mind  as 
to  the  soundness  of  this  view,  it  was  dispelled  soon 
after  they  reached  Symon's  Yat.  She  was  sitting 
in  the  inclosed  veranda  of  a  cozy  hotel  perched  on 
the  right  bank  of  the  Wye  when  Cynthia  suddenly 
leaped  up,  teacup  in  hand,  and  looked  down  at  the 
river. 

"  There  are  the  duckiest  little  yachts  I  have  ever 
seen  skimming  about  on  that  stretch  of  water,"  she 
cried  over  her  shoulder.  "  The  mere  sight  of  them 
makes  me  taste  all  the  dust  I  have  swallowed  between 
here  and  London.  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  real 
cute  to  remain  here  to-night  and  run  into  Hereford 
to-morrow  after  an  early  cup  of  tea  ?  " 

Cynthia  need  not  have  taken  the  trouble  to  avert 
her  scarlet  face  from  Mrs.  Devar's  inquisitive  eyes; 
indeed,  Mrs.  Devar  herself  was  glad  that  her  quick- 
witted and  perhaps  quick-tempered  young  friend  had 
not  surprised  the  wry  smile  that  twisted  her  own  lips. 

"  Just  as  you  please,  Cynthia,"  said  she  amiably. 

Then  the  girl  resolutely  crushed  the  absurd  emo- 
tion that  led  her  to  shirk  her  companion's  scrutiny: 

188 


Breakers  Ahead 

she  was  so  taken  aback  by  this  unexpected  com- 
plaisance in  a  quarter  where  she  was  prepared  for 
opposition  that  she  turned  and  laid  a  grateful  hand 
on  the  other  woman's  arm. 

"  Now  that  is  perfectly  sweet  of  you,"  she  said 
softly.  "  I  would  just  love  to  see  that  river  by 
moonlight,  and — and — I  fancied  you  were  a  bit  weary 
of  the  road.  It  wouldn't  matter  if  the  country  were 
not  so  wonderful,  but  when  one  has  to  screw  one's 
head  round  quickly  or  one  misses  a  castle  or  a  prize 
landscape,  a  hundred  miles  of  that  sort  of  thing 
becomes  a  strain." 

"  This  seems  to  be  quite  a  restful  place,"  agreed 
Mrs.  Devar.  "  Have  you — er — told  Fitzroy  of  the 
proposed  alteration  in  our  arrangements  ?  " 

Cynthia  grew  interested  in  the  yachts  again. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I've  not  mentioned  it  to  him 
—yet." 

A  maid-servant  entered,  and  Cynthia  inquired  if 
the  hotel  could  provide  three  rooms  for  her  party. 

The  girl,  a  pretty  Celt  of  the  fair-haired  type, 
said  she  was  sure  there  was  accommodation. 

"  Then,"  said  Cynthia,  with  what  she  felt  to  be 
a  thoroughly  self-possessed  air,  "  please  ask  my 
chauffeur  if  he  would  like  another  cup  of  tea,  and 
tell  him  to  house  the  car  and  have  our  boxes  sent 
in,  as  we  shall  stay  here  till  half-past  eight  to-morrow 
morning." 

Mrs.  Devar's  letter  to  Peter  Vanrenen  forthwith 
entered  the  category  of  things  that  must  be  done 

189 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

at  the  earliest  opportunity.  She  wrote  it  before 
dinner,  taking  a  full  hour  in  the  privacy  of  her  room 
to  compose  its  few  carefully  considered  sentences. 
She  posted  it,  too,  and  was  confirmed  in  her  estimate 
of  its  very  real  importance  when  she  saw  a  muslined 
Cynthia  saunter  out  and  join  "  Fitzroy,"  who  hap- 
pened to  be  standing  on  a  tiny  landing-stage  near 
a  boathouse. 

Yet,  so  strangely  constituted  is  human  nature  of 
the  Devar  variety,  she  would  have  given  half  the 
money  she  possessed  if  she  could  have  recalled  that 
letter  an  hour  later.  But  His  Majesty's  mails  are 
inexorable  as  fate.  A  twopence-ha'penny  stamp  had 
linked  Symon's  Yat  and  Paris,  and  not  all  Mrs. 
Devar's  world-worn  ingenuity  could  sunder  that  link. 


CHAPTER  IX 

ON   THE  WYE 

FOE  this  is  what  happened.  To  Mrs.  Devar, 
gazing  darkly  at  Cynthia's  too  innocent  discovery 
of  Medenham  standing  on  the  tiny  quay,  came  the 
Welsh  maid,  saying: 

"  Beg  pardon,  mam,  but  iss  your  chauf-feur's 
name  Fitz-roy  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  he  iss  wan-ted  on  the  tel-e-phone  from  Her- 
e-ford, mam." 

"  There  he  is,  below  there,  near  the  river." 

Mrs.  Devar  smiled  sourly  at  the  thought  that  the 
interruption  was  well-timed,  since  Medenham  was  just 
raising  his  cap  with  a  fine  assumption  of  surprise 
at  finding  Miss  Vanrenen  strolling  by  the  water's 
edge.  The  civil-spoken  maid  was  about  to  trip  off 
in  pursuit  of  him,  when  Mrs.  Devar  changed  her 
mind.  The  notion  suddenly  occurred  to  her  that 
it  would  be  well  if  she  intervened  in  this  telephonic 
conversation,  and  Fitzroy  could  still  be  summoned 
a  minute  later  if  desirable. 

"  Don't  trouble,"  she  cried,  "  I  think  that  Alias 

191 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

Yanrenen  wishes  to  go  boating,  so  I  will  attend  to 
the  call  myself.  Perhaps  Fitzroy's  presence  may  be 
dispensed  with." 

The  felt-lined  telephone  box  was  well  screened  off ; 
as  first  impressions  might  be  valuable,  she  adjusted 
the  receivers  carefully  over  both  ears  before  she 
shouted  "Hallo!" 

"  That  you,  my  lord?  "  said  a  voice. 

"Hallo! — who  wants  Fitzroy?"  she  asked  in  the 
gruffest  tone  she  could  adopt. 

"  It's  Dale,  my But  who  is  talking?  Is 

that  you,  sir?  " 

"  Go  on.      Can't  you  hear?  " 

"  Not  very  well,  my  lord,  but  I'm  that  upset  .  .  . 
It  wasn't  my  fault,  but  your  lordship's  father  dropped 
on  to  me  at  Bristol,  an'  he's  here  now.  What  am 
I  to  do?" 

"  My  lordship's  father !  What  are  you  talking 
about  ?  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  Isn't  that  Lord Oh,  dash  it,  aren't  you  Miss 

Vanrenen's  chauffeur,  Fitzroy  ?  " 

"No.  This  is  the  Symon's  Yat  Hotel.  The 
party  is  out  now,  and  Fitzroy  as  well,  but  I  can  tell 
him  anything  you  wish  to  say." 

Mrs.  Devar  fancied  that  the  speaker,  whose  words 
thus  far  had  excited  her  liveliest  curiosity,  would 
imagine  that  he  was  in  communication  with  the  pro- 
prietors of  the  hotel.  She  was  not  mistaken.  Dale 
fell  into  the  trap  instantly,  though,  indeed,  he  was 
not  to  be  blamed,  since  he  had  asked  most  earnestly 

192 


On  the  Wye 

that  "  Mr.  Fitzroy,  Miss  Vanrenen's  chauffeur " 
should  be  brought  to  the  telephone. 

"  Well,  mam,"  he  said,  "  if  I  can't  get  hold  of— 
of  Fitzroy — I  must  leave  a  message,  as  I  don't  sup- 
pose I'll  have  another  chanst.  I'm  his  man,  I'm 
Dale ;  have  you  got  it  ?  " 

"  Yes— Dale." 

"  Tell  him  the  Earl  of  Fairholme  turned  up  in 
Bristol  an'  forced  me  to  explain  everything.  I 
couldn't  help  it.  The  old  gentleman  fell  from  the 
blooming  sky,  he  did.  Will  you  remember  that 
name  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes :  the  Earl  of  Fairholme." 

"  Well,  his  lordship  will  understand.  I  mean  you 
must  tell  Fitzroy  what  I  said.  Please  tell  him 
privately.  I  expect  I'll  get  the  sack  anyhow  over 
this  business,  but  I'm  doin'  me  best  in  tryin'  the 
telephone,  so  you'll  confer  a  favor,  mam,  if  you  call 
Fitzroy  on  one  side  before  tellin'  him." 

Though  the  telephone-box  was  stuffy  when  the 
door  was  closed,  Mrs.  Devar  felt  a  cold  chill  run- 
ning down  her  spine. 

'*  I  don't  quite  understand,"  she  said  thickly. 
"You're  Dale,  somebody's  man;  whose  man?" 

"  His  lordship's.  Oh,  d — n.  Beg  pardon,  mam, 
but  I'm  Fitzroy's  chauffeur." 

It  was  a  glorious  night  of  early  summer,  yet  light- 
ning struck  in  that  little  shut-off  section  of  the 
hotel. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  are  Viscount  Medenham's 

193 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

chauffeur?  "  she  gasped,  and  her  hands  trembled  so 
much  that  she  could  scarce  hold  the  receivers  to  her 
ears. 

"  Yes'm.  Now  you've  got  it.  But,  look  here,  I 
daren't  stop  another  minnit.  Tell  his  lordship — 
tell  Mr.  Fitzroy — that  I'll  dodge  the  Earl  in  some 
way  an'  remain  here.  He  says  he  has  been  tricked, 
wot  between  me  an'  the  Frenchman,  but  he  means 
to  go  back  to  London  to-morrow.  Good-by,  mam. 
You  won't  forget — strickly  private  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  I  won't  forget,"  said  Mrs.  Devar  grimly ; 
nevertheless,  she  felt  weak  and  sick,  and  in  her  anxiety 
to  rush  out  into  the  fresh  air  she  did  forget  to  hang 
up  the  receivers,  and  the  Symon's  Yat  Hotel  was 
cut  off  from  the  world  of  telephones  until  someone 
entered  the  box  early  next  morning. 

She  was  of  a  not  uncommon  type — a  physical 
coward  endowed  with  nerves  of  steel,  but,  for  once 
in  her  life,  she  came  perilously  near  fainting.  It 
was  bad  enough  that  a  money-making  project  of 
some  value  should  show  signs  of  tumbling  in  ruins, 
but  far  worse  that  she,  an  experienced  tuft-hunter, 
should  have  lived  in  close  companionship  with  a 
viscount  for  four  long  days  and  snubbed  him  ran- 
corously  and  without  cease.  There  was  no  escap- 
ing the  net  she  had  contrived  for  her  own  entangle- 
ment. She  had  actually  written  to  Peter  Vanrenen 
that  she  deemed  it  her  duty  as  Cynthia's  chaperon 
to  acquaint  him  with  Simmonds's  defection  and  the, 
filling  of  his  place  by  Fitzroy,  "  a  most  unsuitable 


On  the  Wye 

person  to  act  as  Miss  Vanrenen's  chauffeur" — in- 
deed, a  young  man  who,  she  was  sure,  "  would  never 
have  been  chosen  for  such  a  responsible  position  " 
by  Mr.  Vanrenen  himself. 

And  Fitzroy  was  Viscount  Medenham,  heir  to  the 
Fairholme  estates,  one  of  the  most  eligible  young 
bachelors  in  the  kingdom !  Oh,  blind  and  crass  that 
she  had  not  guessed  the  truth!  The  car,  the 
luncheon-basket,  the  rare  wine,  the  crest  on  the  silver, 
the  very  candor  of  the  wretch  in  giving  his  real  name, 
his  instant  recognition  of  "  Jimmy  "  Devar's  mother, 
the  hints  of  a  childhood  passed  in  Sussex — why,  even 
the  aunt  he  spoke  of  on  Derby  Day  must  be  Susan 
St.  Maur,  while  Millicent  Porthcawl  had  actually 
met  him  in  the  Bournemouth  hotel ! — these  and  many 
another  vivid  index  pointed  the  path  of  knowledge 
to  one  so  well  versed  as  she  in  the  intricacies  of 
Debrett.  The  very  attributes  which  she  had  taken 
for  an  impertinent  aping  of  the  manners  of  society 
had  shouted  his  identity  into  her  deaf  ears  time  and 
again.  Even  an  intelligent  West-end  housemaid 
would  have  felt  some  suspicion  of  the  facts  when 
confronted  by  these  piled-up  tokens.  She  remem- 
bered noticing  his  hands,  the  quality  of  his  linen, 
his  astonishingly  "  good "  appearance  on  the  only 
occasion  that  she  had  seen  him  in  evening  dress ;  she 
almost  groaned  aloud  when  she  recalled  the  manner 
of  her  son's  departure  from  Bristol,  and  some  imp 
in  her  heart  raked  the  burnt  ashes  of  the  fire  that 
had  devoured  her  when  she  heard  why  Captain  Devar 

195 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

was  requested  to  resign  his  commission.  Of  course, 
this  proud  young  aristocrat  recognized  him  at  once, 
and  had  brushed  him  out  of  his  sight  as  one  might 
brush  a  fly  off  a  windowpane. 

But  how  was  she  to  act  in  face  of  the  threatened 
disaster?  Why  had  not  her  son  warned  her?  Did 
Marigny  know,  and  was  that  the  explanation  of  his 
sheepish  demeanor  when  she  and  Cynthia  were  about 
to  enter  the  car  that  morning?  Indeed,  Marigny 's 
quiet  acceptance  of  the  position  was  quite  as  diffi- 
cult to  understand  as  her  own  failure  to  grasp  the 
significance  of  all  that  happened  since  noon  on 
Wednesday.  This  very  day,  before  breakfast,  he 
had  come  to  her  room  with  the  cheering  news  that 
information  to  hand  from  London  would  certainly 
procure  the  dismissal  of  "  Fitzroy  "  forthwith.  The 
Mercury  was  registered  in  the  name  of  the  Earl  of 
Fairholme,  the  obvious  deduction  being  that  his  lord- 
ship's chauffeur  was  careering  through  England  in 
a  valuable  car  without  a  shred  of  permission;  the 
merest  whisper  to  Cynthia  of  this  discovery,  said 
the  Frenchman,  would  send  "  Fitzroy  "  packing. 

And  again,  what  had  Cynthia  meant  when  she  re- 
ferred at  Chepstow  to  the  "  Norman  baron  scowl " 
with  which  "  Fitzroy  "  had  favored  Marigny  ?  Was 
she,  too,  in  the  secret?  Unhappy  Mrs.  Devar!  She 
glowered  at  the  darkening  Wye,  and  wriggled  on  her 
chair  in  torture. 

"  Wass  it  all  right  a-bout  the  tel-e-phone,  mam  ?  " 
said  a  soft  voice  at  her  ear. 

196 


On  the  Wye 

She  started  violently,  and  the  maid  was  contrite. 

"  I'm  ver-ry  sor-ry,  mam,"  she  said,  "  but  I  see 
Mr.  Fitzroy  down  there  on  the  riv-er " 

"Where,  where?"  cried  the  other,  rather  to  gain 
time  to  collect  her  wits  than  to  ascertain  Medenham's 
"whereabouts. 

The  girl  pointed. 

"  In  that  lit-tle  boat,  all  by  its-self,  mam,"  she 
said. 

"  Oh,  it  was  of  no  importance.  By  the  way," 
and  Mrs.  Devar  produced  her  purse,  "  you  might  tell 
the  people  in  the  office  not  to  pay  any  attention  to 
the  statements  of  a  man  named  Dale,  if  he  rings  up 
from  Hereford.  He  is  only  a  chauffeur,  and  we 
shall  see  him  in  the  morning;  perhaps  it  will  be  best, 
if  he  asks  for  Fitzroy  again  to-night,  to  tell  him 
to  await  our  arrival." 

"  Yess,  mam,"  and  the  maid  went  off,  the  richer 
by  half-a-crown.  Mrs.  Devar's  usual  "  tip  "  was  a 
sixpence  for  a  week's  attentions,  so  it  would  demand 
an  abstruse  arithmetical  calculation  to  arrive  at  an 
exact  estimate  of  the  degree  of  mental  disturbance 
that  led  to  the  present  lack  of  proportion. 

Left  alone  once  more,  her  gaze  followed  a  small 
skiff  speeding  upstream  over  the  placid  surface  of 
the  silvery  Wye;  Medenham  was  rowing,  and  Cyn- 
thia held  the  tiller  ropes ;  but  Mrs.  Devar's  thoughts 
turned  her  mind's  eyes  inward,  and  they  surveyed 
a  gray  prospect.  Dale,  the  unseen  monster  who  had 
struck  this  paralyzing  blow,  spoke  of  "  the  French- 

197 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

man."  Lord  Fairholme  had  charged  both  Dale  and 
"  the  Frenchman  "  with  tricking  him.  Therefore, 
the  Earl  and  Marigny  had  met  at  Bristol.  If  so, 
and  there  could  be  little  doubt  of  it,  Marigny  would 
hardly  appear  in  Hereford,  and  if  she  attempted  to 
telephone  to  the  Green  Dragon  Hotel,  where  Cynthia 
had  engaged  rooms,  she  would  not  only  fail  to  reach 
Marigny  but  probably  reveal  to  a  wrathful  Earl 
the  very  fact  which  Dale  seemed  to  have  withheld 
from  him,  namely,  his  son's  address  at  the  moment. 

She  assumed  that  Dale  knew  how  to  communicate 
with  his  master  because  Medenham  had  telegraphed 
the  name  of  the  hotel  at  Symon's  Yat.  Therein 
she  was  right.  Medenham  wanted  his  baggage,  and, 
having  ascertained  that  there  was  a  suitable  train, 
sent  instructions  that  Dale  was  to  travel  by  it.  This, 
of  course,  the  man  could  not  do.  Lord  Fairholme 
had  carried  off  his  son's  portmanteaux,  and  had 
actually  hired  a  room  in  the  Green  Dragon  next  to 
that  reserved  for  Cynthia. 

Suddenly  grown  wise,  Mrs.  Devar  decided  against 
the  telephone.  But  there  remained  the  secrecy  of  the 
post-office.  What  harm  if  she  sent  a  brief  message 
to  both  the  Green  Dragon  and  the  Mitre  Hotels — 
Marigny  would  be  sure  to  put  up  at  one  or  the  other 
if  he  were  in  Hereford — and  demand  his  advice?  She 
hurried  to  the  drawing-room  and  wrote: 

Remaining  Symon's  Yat  Hotel  to-night.  Suppose  you  are 
aware  of  to-day's  developments.  F.  is  son  of  gentleman  you 
met  in  Bristol.  Wire  reply.  DEVAR. 

198 


On  the  Wye 

She  went  to  the  hotel  bureau,  but  a  sympathetic 
landlady  shook  her  head. 

"  The  Post-office  is  closed.  No  telegrams  can  be 
dispatched  until  eight  o'clock  on  Monday,"  she  said. 
"  But  there  is  the  telephone " 

"  It  is  matterless,"  said  Mrs.  Devar,  crushing  the 
written  forms  in  her  fingers  as  though  she  had  reason 
to  believe  they  might  sting  her. 

She  resolved  to  let  events  drift  now.  They  had 
passed  beyond  her  control.  Perhaps  a  policy  of 
masterly  inactivity  might  rescue  her  from  the  tornado 
which  had  swept  her  off  her  feet.  In  any  case, 
she  must  fight  her  own  battles,  irrespective  of  the 
cabal  entered  into  in  Paris.  Captain  James  Devar 
was  an  impossible  ally;  the  French  Count  was  a 
negligible  quantity  when  compared  with  an  English 
viscount  whose  ancestry  threw  back  to  the  Conquest 
and  whose  estates  covered  half  of  a  midland  shire; 
but  there  remained,  active  as  ever,  the  self-interest 
of  a  poor  widow  from  whose  despairing  grasp  was 
slipping  a  golden  opportunity. 

"  Is  it  too  late?  "  she  asked  herself.  "  Can  any- 
thing be  done?  Maud,  my  dear,  you  are  up  against 
it,  as  they  say  in  America.  Pull  yourself  together, 
and  see  if  you  can't  twist  your  mistakes  to  your  own 
advantage." 

Cynthia,  meanwhile,  was  enjoying  herself  hugely. 
The  placid  reaches  of  the  Wye  offered  a  delightful 
contrast  to  the  sun-baked  roads  of  Monmouthshire; 
and,  it  may  be  added,  there  was  enough  of  Mother 

199 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

Eve  in  her  composition  to  render  the  proceeding 
none  the  less  attractive  because  it  was  unconventional. 
Perhaps,  deep  hidden  in  her  consciousness,  lurked  a 
doubt — but  that  was  successfully  stifled  for  the 
hour. 

Indeed,  her  wits  were  trying  to  solve  a  minor 
puzzle.  Her  woman's  eye  had  seen  and  her  quick 
brain  was  marveling  at  certain  details  in  Meden- 
ham's  costume.  There  are  conditions,  even  in  Eng- 
land, in  which  a  flannel  suit  is  hard  to  obtain,  and 
the  manner  of  their  coming  to  Symon's  Yat  seemed 
to  preclude  the  buying  of  ready-made  garments,  a 
solution  which  would  occur  to  an  American  instantly. 
Yet  here  was  that  incomprehensible  chauffeur  clad 
in  the  correct  regalia  of  the  Thames  Rowing  Club, 
though  Cynthia,  of  course,  did  not  recognize  the 
colors. 

"  How  did  you  manage  it?  "  she  asked,  wide-eyed 
and  smiling. 

"  I  hunted  through  the  hotels  and  met  a  man  about 
my  own  size  who  was  just  off  to  town,"  he  said. 

"  But — there  are  gaps." 

"  I  thought  they  fitted  rather  well.  In  fact,  he 
was  slightly  the  stouter  of  the  two." 

"  Don't  be  stupid.  The  gaps  are  in  your  story. 
Did  you  borrow  or  buy  ?  " 

"  I  borrowed.  Luckily,  he  was  a  decent  fellow, 
and  there  was  no  trouble." 

"  Did  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  By  name  only." 

200 


On  the  Wye 

"  Do  Englishmen  lend  their  clothes  to  promiscuous 
strangers  ?  " 

"  More,  much  more ;  they  give  them  at  times." 

She  was  silent  for  a  few  seconds.  He  had  per- 
suaded her  that  oars  were  preferable  to  sails  on 
such  a  still  night,  especially  as  he  was  not  acquainted 
with  the  shallows,  but  he  had  not  explained  that  if 
he  rowed  and  she  steered  he  would  be  able  to  gaze 
his  fill  at  her. 

"  What  colors  are  those  ? "  she  demanded  sud- 
denly. 

"  I  ought  to  have  told  you  that  I  happened  to 
find  a  member  of  the  club  to  which  I  belong,"  he 
countered.  Then,  before  she  could  pin  him  down  to 
a  definite  statement,  he  tried  to  carry  the  war  into 
the  enemy's  country. 

"  By  the  way,  I  hope  I  am  not  presuming  on  the 
fact  that  you  have  consented  to  take  this  little  ex- 
cursion, Miss  Vanrenen,  but  may  I  ask  how  you 
contrive  to  appear  each  evening  in  a  muslin  frock? 
Those  hold-alls  on  the  motor  are  strictly  utilitarian, 
and  a  mere  man  would  imagine  that  muslin  could  not 
escape  being  crushed." 

"  It  doesn't.  I  have  a  maid  iron  it  for  me  before 
dinner.  At  Hereford  I  shall  receive  a  fresh  one  from 
London,  and  send  this  back  by  post.  But  fancy  you 
noticing  such  a  thing!  Have  you  any  sisters?" 

"  Yes,  one." 

"How  old  is  she?" 

"  Twenty-three." 

201 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

"  Dear  me !      A  year  older  than  me.      Oh,  ought 
I  to  have  said  *  than  I '?      That  always  puzzles  me." 
"  You  have  Milton  on  your  side.      He  wrote : 

Satan — than  whom  no  higher  sat. 

Still,  it  is  generally  allowed  that  Milton  wrote  bad 
grammar  there." 

Cynthia  was  awed  momentarily — a  quotation  from 
"  Paradise  Lost  "  always  commands  respect — so  she 
harked  back  to  an  easier  topic. 

"  Is  your  sister  married?  " 

"  Yes." 

"What  is  her  husband?" 

"  She  married  rather  well,  as  the  saying  is.  Her 
husband  is  a  man  named  Scarland,  and  he  is  chiefly 
interested  in  pedigree  cattle." 

"  Let  me  see,"  she  mused.  "  I  seem  to  remember 
the  name;  it  had  something  to  do  with  fat  cattle, 
too.  .  .  .  Scarland?  Does  he  exhibit?" 

Medenham  wished  then  that  he  had  not  been  so 
glib  with  the  Marquis  of  Scarland's  pet  occupation. 

"  I  have  been  in  England  so  little  during  the  past 
few  years "  he  began. 

"  I  hope  you  haven't  quarreled  with  your  sister?  " 
she  put  in  promptly. 

"What,  quarrel  with  Betty?  I?"  And  he 
laughed  at  the  conceit,  though  he  wondered  what 
Cynthia  would  say  if,  on  Monday,  he  deviated  a  few 
miles  from  the  Hereford  and  Shrewsbury  main  road 

202 


On  the  Wye 

and  showed  her  Scarland  Towers  and  the  park  in 
which  the  marquis's  prize  stock  were  fattening. 

"  Oh,  is  she  so  nice?  And  pretty,  too,  I  sup- 
pose? " 

"  People  generally  speak  of  her  as  good-looking. 
It  is  a  recognized  fact,  I  believe,  that  pretty  girls 
usually  have  brothers  not  so  favored " 

"  What,  fishing  now  as  well  as  rowing?  Didn't 
I  say  you  had  a  Norman  aspect?  " 

"  Consisting  largely  of  a  scowl,  I  understand." 

"  But  a  man  is  bound  to  look  fierce  sometimes. 
At  least,  my  father  does,  though  he  is  celebrated  for 
his  unchanging  aspect,  no  matter  what  happens.  Per- 
haps he  may  look  like  a  Sphinx  when  he  is  carrying 
through  what  he  calls  '  a  deal,'  but  I  remember  very 
well  seeing  lightning  in  his  eye  when  an  Italian  prince 
was  rude  to  me  one  day.  We  were  at  Pompeii,  and 
this  Prince  Monte-something  induced  me  to  look  at 
a  horrid  fresco  under  the  pretense  that  it  was  very 
artistic.  Without  thinking  what  I  was  doing,  I  ran 
to  father  and  complained  about  it.  My  goodness ! 
I  wonder  the  lava  didn't  melt  again  before  he  got 
through  with  his  highness,  who,  after  all,  was  a  bit 
of  a  virtuoso,  and  may  have  really  admired  nasty 
subjects  so  long  as  they  conformed  to  certain  stan- 
dards of  art." 

"  Some  ideals  call  for  correction  by  the  toe  of  a 
strong  boot — I  share  Mr.  Vanrenen's  views  on  that 
point  most  emphatically." 

Medenham's   character  was   one  that  transmuted 

203 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

words  to  deeds.  He  drdve  the  skiff  onward  with 
a  powerful  sweep  that  discovered  an  unexpected  shoal. 
There  might  have  been  some  danger  of  an  upset 
if  the  oars  were  in  less  skillful  hands.  As  it  was, 
they  were  back  in  deep  water  within  a  few  seconds. 

Cynthia  laughed  without  the  least  tremor. 

"  You  were  kicking  my  Italian  acquaintance  in 
imagination  then ;  I  hope  you  see  now  that  you  might 
have  been  mistaken,"  she  cried. 

"  Even  in  this  instance  I  only  touched  mud." 

"  Well,  well,  let  us  forget  the  Signor  Principe. 
Tell  me  about  yourself.  How  did  you  come  to  en- 
list? In  my  country,  men  of  your  stamp  do  not 
join  the  army  unless  some  national  crisis  arises.  But, 
perhaps,  that  applies  to  your  case.  The  Boers  nearly 
beat  you,  didn't  they  ?  " 

He  took  advantage  of  the  opening  thus  presented, 
and  was  able  to  interest  her  in  stories  of  the  cam- 
paign without  committing  himself  to  details.  Never- 
theless, a  man  who  had  served  on  the  headquarters 
staff  during  the  protracted  second  phase  of  the  South 
African  war  could  hardly  fail  to  exhibit  an  intimate 
knowledge  of  that  history  which  is  never  written. 
Though  Cynthia  had  met  many  leaders  of  thought 
and  action,  she  had  never  before  encountered  one 
who  had  taken  part  in  a  struggle  of  such  peculiar 
significance  as  the  Boer  revolt.  She  was  not  an 
English  girl,  eager  only  to  hear  tales  of  derring-do 
in  which  her  fellow-countrymen  figure  heroically,  but 
a  citizen  of  that  wider  world  that  refuses  to  look  at 

204 


On  the  Wye 

events  exclusively  through  British  spectacles ;  therein 
lay  the  germ  of  real  peril  to  Medenham.  He  had 
not  only  to  narrate  but  to  convince.  He  was  called 
on  to  answer  questions  of  policy  and  method  that 
few  if  any  of  the  women  in  his  own  circle  would 
think  of  putting.  Obviously,  this  appeal  to  his  in- 
tellect weakened  the  self-imposed  guard  on  his  lips. 
There  is  excellent  authority  for  the  belief  that  Desde- 
mona  loved  Othello  for  the  dangers  he  had  passed, 
and  did  with  greedy  ear  devour  his  discourse,  yet 
it  may  well  be  conceded  that  an  explanatory  piquancy 
would  have  been  added  to  the  Moor's  account 

Of  most  disastrous  chances, 
Of  moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field, 

if  the  lady  were  not  a  maid  of  Venice  but  hailed  from 
some  kindred  city  that  refused  to  range  all  the  virtues 
on  the  side  of  the  Mistress  of  the  Adriatic. 

More  than  once  it  chanced  that  Medenham  had  to 
exercise  his  wits  very  quickly  to  trip  his  tongue  when 
on  the  verge  of  some  indiscretion  that  would  betray 
him.  Perhaps  he  was  unduly  cautious.  Perhaps  his 
listener's  heart  had  mastered  her  brain  for  the  time. 
Perhaps  she  would  not  have  woke  up  in  a  maze  from 
a  dream  that  was  not  less  a  dream  because  she  was 
not  sleeping  even  if  some  unwary  utterance  caused 
her  to  ask  what  manner  of  man  this  could  be. 

But  that  can  never  be  known,  since  Cynthia  her- 
self never  knew.  The  one  sharp  and  clear  fact  that 

205 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

remained  in  her  mind  as  a  memory  of  a  summer's 
evening  passed  in  a  boat  on  a  river  flowing  through 
fairyland,  was  provided  by  a  set  of  circumstances 
far  removed  from  tales  of  stormy  night-riding  after 
De  Wet  or  the  warp  and  weft  of  European  politics 
as  they  fashioned  the  cere-cloths  of  the  two  Dutch 
republics. 

Neither  the  one  nor  the  other  should  be  blamed  if 
they  found  a  boat  on  the  Wye  a  most  pleasant  ex- 
change for  an  eager  automobile  on  roads  that  tempted 
to  high  speed.  At  any  rate,  they  gave  no  heed  to 
the  time  until  Cynthia  happened  to  glance  at  the 
horizon  and  saw  that  the  sun  was  represented  by  a 
thin  seam  of  silver  hemming  the  westerly  fringe  of 
a  deep  blue  sky.  If  there  was  a  moon,  it  was  hidden 
by  the  hills. 

"  Whatever  o'clock  is  it?  "  she  cried  in  a  voice  that 
held  almost  a  sound  of  scare. 

Medenham  looked  at  his  watch,  and  had  to  hold 
it  close  to  his  eyes  before  he  could  make  out  the 
hour. 

"  Time  you  were  back  at  the  hotel,"  he  said,  swing- 
ing the  boat  round  quickly.  "  I  am  afraid  I  have 
kept  you  out  too  long,  Miss  Vanrenen.  It  is  a 
perfect  night,  but  you  must  not  risk  catching  a 
chill " 

"  I'm  not  worrying  about  that  sort  of  chill — there 
are  others :  what  will  Mrs.  Devar  think?  " 

"  The  worst,"  he  could  not  help  saying. 

"What  time  is  it,  really?" 

206 


On  the  Wye 

"  Won't  you  be  happier  not  to  know  ?  We  have 
the  stream  with  us  now " 

"  Mr.  Fitzroy — what  time  is  it?  " 

"  Nearly  half-past  ten  o'clock.  You  did  not  leave 
the  hotel  till  after  half-past  eight." 

"  Oh,  blame  me,  of  course.  '  The  woman  tempted 
me  and  I  did  eat.' ' 

"  No,  no.  Apples  are  not  the  only  forbidden  fruit. 
May  I  vary  an  unworthy  defense?  The  woman 
came  with  me  and  I  didn't  care." 

"  But  I  do  care.  Please  hurry.  Mrs.  Devar  will 
be  real  mad,  and  I  shan't  have  a  word  to  say  for 
myself." 

Medenham  bent  to  it,  and  the  outrigger  traveled 
downstream  at  a  rare  pace.  Cynthia  steered  with 
fair  accuracy  by  the  track  they  had  followed  against 
the  current,  but  the  oarsman  glanced  over  his  shoul- 
der occasionally,  and  advised  her  as  to  the  probable 
trend  of  the  channel. 

"  Keep  a  bit  wide  here,"  he  said  when  they  were 
approaching  a  sharp  bend.  "  I  believe  we  almost 
touched  ground  in  midstream  as  we  came  up." 

She  obeyed,  and  a  wide  expanse  of  low-lying  land 
opened  before  her  eyes. 

"  I  don't  see  the  lights  of  the  hotel  yet,"  she  said, 
with  a  note  of  anxiety. 

"  You  are  not  making  enough  allowance  for  the 
way  in  which  this  river  turns  and  twists.  There 
are  sections  in  which  you  box  the  compass  during  the 
course  of  a  short " 

207 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

A  sharp  tearing  noise  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat 
amidships  was  followed  by  an  inrush  of  water. 
Medenham  sprang  upright,  leaped  overboard,  and 
caught  the  port  outrigger  with  his  left  hand.  He 
was  then  immersed  to  the  waist,  but  he  flung  his  right 
arm  around  Cynthia  and  lifted  her  clear  of  the  sink- 
ing craft. 

"  Sit  on  my  shoulder.  Steady  yourself  with  your 
hands  on  my  head,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  so 
unemotional  that  the  girl  could  almost  have  laughed. 
Beyond  one  startled  "  Oh ! "  when  the  plank  was 
ripped  out  she  had  uttered  no  sound,  and  she  fol- 
lowed his  instructions  now  implicitly.  She  was 
perched  comfortably  well  above  the  river  when  she 
felt  that  he  was  moving,  not  to  either  bank,  but  down 
the  center  of  the  stream.  Suddenly  he  let  go  the 
boat,  which  had  swung  broadside  on. 

"  It  is  sinking,  and  the  weight  was  pulling  me 
over,"  he  explained,  still  in  the  same  quiet  way,  as 
though  he  were  stating  the  merest  commonplace. 
Some  thrill  that  she  could  not  account  for  vibrated 
through  her  body.  She  was  not  frightened  in  the 
least.  She  had  the  most  complete  confidence  in  this 
man,  whose  head  was  braced  against  her  left  thigh, 
and  whose  arm  was  clasping  her  skirts  closely  round 
her  ankles. 

"  Which  side  do  you  mean  to  make  for? "  she 
asked. 

"  I  hardly  know.  You  are  higher  up  than  me. 
Perhaps  you  can  decide  best  as  to  the  set  of  the 

208 


.,     *    •-   ". 


^>^ 


<Tity  I'm  not  a  circus  lady,  to  balance  myself  on  your  head," 

said  Cynthia.  page  209 


On  the  Wye 

current.  The  boat  seems  to  have  been  carried  to 
the  right." 

"  Yes.     I  think  the  river  shoals  to  the  left." 

"  Suppose  we  try  the  other  way  first.  The  hotel 
is  on  that  side." 

"  Anything  you  like." 

He  took  a  cautious  step,  then  another.  The  water 
was  rising.  Luckily  the  current  was  not  very  strong 
or  he  could  not  have  stood  against  it. 

"  No  good,"  he  said.      "  We  must  go  back." 

"  Pity  I'm  not  a  circus  lady.  Then  I  might  have 
balanced  myself  gracefully  on  the  top  of  your 
head." 

He  murmured  something  indistinctly,  but  Cynthia 
fancied  she  caught  the  words: 

"  You're  a  dear,  anyhow." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  It  is  high  time  we  were  out  of  here,"  he  answered, 
turning  his  back  to  the  pressure  of  water,  which  was 
very  great  in  that  place. 

"  What  will  happen  if  there  are  two  channels,  and 
we  have  pitched  on  a  bank  in  the  middle  ?  " 

"  I  must  walk  about  a  bit  until  I  find  the  right 
track.  The  Wye  is  not  very  deep  at  this  point. 
It  must  shelve  rapidly  in  one  direction  or  the  other." 

"  But  it  mayn't." 

"  In  that  event  I  shall  lower  you  into  the  water, 
ask  you  to  hold  tight  to  my  coat  collar  with 
both  hands,  and  let  me  swim.  It  is  only  a  few 
yards." 

209 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

"  But  I  can  swim,  too." 

"  Not  in  a  long  dress.  .  .  .  Ah,  here  we  are. 
I  thought  so." 

In  a  couple  of  strides  the  water  was  below  his  knees. 
Soon  he  was  standing  on  a  pebbly  beach  at  the  nose 
of  the  promontory  formed  by  the  bend  where  the 
accident  had  happened.  In  order  to  lower  Cynthia 
to  the  ground  without  bringing  her  muslin  flounces  in 
contact  with  his  dripping  clothes  he  had  to  stoop 
somewhat.  Her  hair  brushed  his  forehead,  his  eyes, 
his  lips,  as  he  lifted  her  down.  His  hands  rested  for 
an  instant  on  the  warm  softness  of  her  neck  and 
shoulders.  His  heart  leaped  in  a  mad  riot  of  joy 
at  the  belief  that  she  would  have  uttered  no  protest 
if  he  had  drawn  her  nearer  instead  of  setting  her 
decorously  on  her  feet.  He  dared  not  look  at  her, 
but  turned  and  gazed  at  the  river. 

"  Thank  God,  that  is  over !  "  he  said. 

Cynthia  heard  something  in  his  voice  then  that 
was  absent  when  they  were  both  in  peril  of  being 
swept  away  by  the  silent  rush  of  the  black  stream. 

"  Quite  an  adventure,"  she  sighed,  stooping  to  feel 
the  hem  of  her  frock. 

"  You  are  not  wet?  "  he  asked,  after  a  pause. 

"  Not  a  thread.  The  water  barely  touched  my 
feet.  How  prompt  you  were!  I  suppose  men  who 
fight  have  often  to  decide  quickly  like  that.  .  .  . 
What  caused  it?  A  whole  seam  was  torn  open." 

"  It  cannot  be  a  stake.  Such  a  thing  would  not 
be  permitted  to  exist  in  this  river.  ...  A  snag 

210 


On  the  Wye 

probably.  Some  old  tree  stump  undermined  by  last 
month's  heavy  rain." 

"  What  of  the  boat?      Is  it  lost?  " 

"  No.  It  will  be  found  easily  enough  in  the  morn- 
ing. The  damage  is  trifling.  How  splendid  you 
were !  " 

"  Please  don't.  I  haven't  said  a  word  to  you, 
and  I  don't  mean  to." 

"  But " 

"  Well,  say  it,  if  you  must." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  compliment  you  in  the  ordinary 
terms.  Just  this — nature  intended  you  to  be  a  sol- 
dier's bride,  Miss  Vanrenen." 

"  Nature,  being  feminine,  may  promise  that  which 
she  does  not  always  mean  to  carry  out.  Besides,  I 
don't  know  many  soldiers.  .  .  .  It  is  charming 
here,  by  the  river's  edge,  but  I  must  remember 
that  you  are  soaked  to  the  skin.  Where  are  we, 
exactly  ?  " 

"  About  four  miles  from  the  hotel,  by  water:  per- 
haps a  mile  and  three-quarters  as  the  crow  flies." 

"  How  far  as  a  girl  walks  ?  " 

"  Let  us  try,"  he  said  briskly.  "  We  seem  to  have 
landed  in  a  meadow.  If  we  cross  it,  all  my  efforts 
to  save  that  muslin  frock  will  count  as  naught,  since 
there  is  sure  to  be  a  heavy  dew  on  the  grass  after 
this  fine  day.  Suppose  we  follow  the  bank  a  little 
way  until  we  reach  some  sort  of  a  path.  Will  you 
take  my  hand?  " 

"  No,  I  need  both  hands  to  hold  up  my   dress. 

211 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

But  you  might  grab  my  arm.  I  am  wearing  French 
shoes,  which  are  not  built  for  clambering  over 
rocks." 

Cynthia  was  adroit.  The  use  of  one  small  word 
had  relieved  the  situation.  Medenham  might  hold 
her  arm  with  the  utmost  tenderness,  but  so  long  as 
he  was  "  grabbing "  it  there  was  nothing  more  to 
be  said. 

He  piloted  her  to  a  narrow  strip  of  turf  that 
bordered  the  Wye,  found  a  path  that  ran  close  to 
a  small  wood,  and  soon  they  were  in  a  road.  There 
was  slight  excuse  for  arm-holding  now,  but  Cynthia 
seemed  to  think  that  her  frills  still  needed  safeguard- 
ing, so  he  did  not  withdraw  the  hand  which  clung  to 
her  elbow. 

A  light  in  a  laborer's  cottage  promised  informa- 
tion; he  knocked  at  the  door,  which  was  not  opened, 
but  a  voice  cried: 

"  Who  is  it?      What  do  you  want?  " 

"  Tell  me  the  nearest  way  to  the  Symon's  Yat 
Hotel,  please,"  said  Medenham. 

"  Keep  straight  on  till  you  come  to  the  ferry.  If 
the  boat  is  on  this  side  you  can  pull  yourself  across." 

"But  if  it  is  not?" 

"  You  must  chance  it.  The  nearest  bridge  is  a 
mile  the  other  way." 

"  By  gad !  "  said  Medenham  under  his  breath. 

"  I  wouldn't  care  a  pin  if  Mrs.  Devar  wasn't  wait- 
ing for  me,"  whispered  Cynthia,  whose  mental  atti- 
tude during  this  mishap  on  the  Wye  contrasted 

212 


On  the  Wye 

strangely  with  her  alarm  when  Marigny's  motor  col- 
lapsed on  the  Mendips. 

"  Mrs.  Devar  is  the  real  problem,"  laughed  Meden- 
ham.  "  We  must  find  some  means  of  soothing  her 
agitation." 

"  Why  don't  you  like  her?  " 

"  That  is  one  of  the  things  I  wish  to  explain 
later." 

"  She  has  been  horrid  to  you,  I  know,  but " 

"  I  am  beginning  to  think  that  I  owe  her  a  debt 
of  gratitude  I  can  never  repay." 

"  What  will  happen  if  that  wretched  ferryboat  is 
on  the  wrong  side  of  the  river?  " 

Medenham  took  her  arm  again,  for  the  road  was 
dark  where  there  were  trees. 

"  You  are  not  to  think  about  it,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  been  doing  all  the  talking  to-night.  Now  tell 
me  something  of  your  wanderings  abroad." 

These  two  already  understood  each  other  without 
the  spoken  word.  He  respected  her  desire  to  sheer 
off  anything  that  might  be  construed  as  establishing 
a  new  relationship  between  them,  and  she  appreciated 
his  restraint  to  the  full.  They  discussed  foreign 
lands  and  peoples  until  the  road  bent  toward  the 
river  again  and  the  ferry  was  reached — at  a  point 
quite  half  a  mile  below  the  hotel. 

And  there  was  no  boat ! 

A  wire  rope  drooped  into  the  darkness  of  the  op- 
posite bank,  but  no  voice  answered  Medenham's  hail. 
Cynthia  said  not  a  syllable  until  her  companion 

213 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

handed  her  his  watch  with  a  request  that  she  should 
hold  it. 

"  You  are  not  going  into  that  river,"  she  cried 
determinedly. 

"  There  is  not  the  slightest  risk,"  he  said. 

"  But  there  is.  What  if  you  were  seized  with 
cramp  ?  " 

"  I  shall  cling  to  the  rope,  if  that  will  satisfy  you. 
I  have  swum  the  Zambesi  before  to-day,  not  from 
choice,  I  admit,  and  it  is  twenty  times  the  width  of 
the  Wye,  while  it  holds  more  crocodiles  than  the  Wye 
holds  salmon." 

"  Well- — if  you  promise  about  the  rope." 

Soon  he  was  out  of  sight,  and  her  heart  knew  its 
first  pang  of  fear.  Then  she  heard  his  cry  of  "  Got 
the  boat,"  followed  by  the  clank  of  a  sculling 
oar  and  the  creak  of  the  guiding-wheel  on  the 
hawser. 

At  last,  shortly  before  midnight,  they  neared  the 
hotel.  Lights  were  visible  on  the  quay,  and  Meden- 
ham  read  their  meaning. 

"  They  are  sending  out  a  search  party,"  he  said. 
"  I  must  go  and  stop  them.  You  run  on  to  the 
hotel,  Miss  Vanrenen.  Good-night!  I  shall  give 
you  an  extra  hour  to-morrow." 

She  hesitated  the  fraction  of  a  second.  Then  she 
extended  a  hand. 

"  Good-night,"  she  murmured.  "  After  all,  I  have 
had  a  real  lovely  time." 

Then  she  was  gone,  and  Medenham  turned  to  thank 

214 


On  the  Wye 

the  hotel  servants  and  others  who  were  going  to  the 
rescue. 

"  I  wonder  what  the  guv'nor  will  say  when  he 
sees  Cynthia,"  he  thought,  with  the  smile  on  his  face 
of  the  lover  who  deems  his  lady  peerless  among  her 
sex.  He  recalled  that  moment  before  many  days 
had  passed,  and  his  reflections  then  took  a  new  guise, 
for  not  all  the  knowledge  and  all  the  experience 
a  man  may  gather  can  avail  him  a  whit  to  forecast 
the  future  when  Fate  is  spinning  her  complex  web. 


215 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   HIDDEN   FOUNTS   OF   EVIL 

IT  was  a  flushed  and  somewhat  breathless  Cynthia 
who  ran  into  the  quiet  country  hotel  at  an  hour 
when  the  Licensing  Laws  of  Britain  have  ordained 
that  quiet  country  hotels  shall  be  closed.  But  even 
the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians,  which  altered 
not,  must  have  bulged  a  little  at  times  under  the 
pressure  of  circumstances.  The  daughter  of  an 
American  millionaire  could  not  be  reported  as  "  miss- 
ing "  without  a  buzz  of  commotion  being  aroused  in 
that  secluded  valley.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  no  one 
in  the  house  dreamed  of  going  to  bed  until  her  dis- 
appearance was  accounted  for,  one  way  or  the  other. 

Mrs.  Devar,  now  really  woebegone,  screamed 
shrilly  at  sight  of  her.  The  lady's  nerves  were  in 
a  parlous  condition — "  on  a  raw  edge  "  was  her  own 
phrase — and  the  relief  of  seeing  her  errant  charge 
again  was  so  great  that  the  shriek  merged  into  a  sob. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear ! "  she  wept,  "  what  a 
shock  you  have  given  me!  I  thought  you  were 
gone ! " 

"  Not  so  bad  as  that,"  was  the  contrite  answer. 
Cynthia  interpreted  "  gone "  as  meaning  "  dead," 

216 


The  Hidden  Founts  of  Evil 

and  naturally  read  into  the  other  woman's  anxiety 
her  own  knowledge  of  the  disaster  to  the  boat.  "  We 
had  a  bit  of  an  upset — that  is  all — and  the  bread 
always  flops  to  the  floor  buttered  side  down,  doesn't 
it?  So  we  had  to  struggle  ashore  on  the  wrong 
bank.  It  couldn't  be  helped — that  is,  the  accident 
couldn't — but  I  ought  not  to  have  been  on  the  river  at 
such  a  late  hour.  Do  forgive  me,  dear  Mrs.  Devar!  " 

By  this  time  the  girl's  left  arm  was  around  her 
friend's  portly  form;  in  her  intense  eagerness  to 
assuage  Mrs.  Devar's  agitation  she  began  to  stroke 
her  hair  with  the  disengaged  hand.  A  deeply  sym- 
pathetic landlady,  a  number  of  servants,  and  most 
of  the  feminine  guests  in  the  hotel — all  the  men  were 
down  on  the  quay — had  gathered  to  murmur  their 
congratulations ;  but  Mrs.  Devar,  dismayed  by  Cyn- 
thia's action,  which  might  have  brought  about  a 
catastrophe,  revived  with  phenomenal  suddenness. 

"  My  dear  child,"  she  cried,  extricating  herself 
from  the  encircling  arm,  "  do  let  me  look  at  you  1 
I  want  to  make  sure  that  you  are  not  injured.  The 
boat  upset,  you  say.  Why,  your  clothes  must  be 
wringing  wet ! " 

Cynthia  laughed.  She  had  guessed  why  her 
chaperon  wished  to  keep  her  literally  at  arm's  length. 
She  spread  her  skirts  with  a  quick  gesture  that  re- 
lieved an  awkward  situation. 

"  Not  a  drop  on  my  clothes,"  she  said  gleefully. 
"  The  water  just  touched  the  soles  of  my  boots,  but 
before  you  could  say  '  Jack  Robinson  '  Fitzroy  had 

217 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

whisked  me  out  of  the  skiff — and  landed  me  on  dry 
land." 

"  You  were  in  shallow  water,  then  ?  "  put  in  the 
smiling  proprietress. 

"  Oh  no,  fairly  deep.  Fitzroy  was  up  to  his 
waist  in  the  stream." 

"And  the  boat  upset?"  came  the  amazed  chorus. 

"  I  didn't  quite  mean  that.  What  actually  hap- 
pened was  this.  I  discovered  that  the  hour  was 
rather  late,  and  Fitzroy  was  rowing  down  stream  at 
a  great  pace  when  some  sunken  thing,  a  tree-root  he 
thinks,  caught  the  side  of  the  boat  and  started  a 
plank.  I  was  so  taken  by  surprise  that  I  should 
have  sat  right  there  and  gone  to  the  bottom  with  the 
boat,  but  Fitzroy  jumped  overboard  straight  away 
and  hiked  me  out." 

Ready-tongued  Cynthia  was  beginning  to  find  de- 
tailed explanation  rather  difficult,  and  her  speech  re- 
verted to  the  picturesque  idioms  of  her  native  land. 
It  was  the  happiest  ruse  she  could  have  adopted. 
Everyone  laughed  at  the  notion  of  being  "  hiked 
out."  None  of  her  hearers  knew  quite  what  it  meant, 
yet  it  covered  the  requisite  ground,  which  was  more 
than  might  have  been  achieved  by  explicit  English. 

"  Where  did  the  accident  take  place  ?  "  asked  the 
landlady. 

Cynthia  was  vague  on  this  point,  but  when  she 
told  how  the  return  journey  was  made,  the  pretty 
Welsh  waitress  hit  on  a  theory. 

"  In-deed  to  goot-ness,  miss,"  she  cried,  "  you  wass 

218 


The  Hidden  Founts  of  Evil 

be-tween  the  Garren  River  an'  Huntsham  Bridge.  It 
iss  a  bad  place,  so  it  iss,  however.  Me  an'  my  young 
man  wass  shoaled  there  once,  we  wass." 

Cynthia  felt  that  her  face  and  neck  had  grown 
positively  scarlet,  and  she  could  have  kissed  the  well- 
disposed  landlady  for  entering  on  a  voluble  disquisi- 
tion as  to  the  tricks  played  by  the  Wye  on  those 
unaware  of  its  peculiarities,  especially  at  night.  A 
general  conversation  broke  out,  but  Mrs.  Devar,  rap- 
idly regaining  her  spirits  after  enduring  long  hours 
of  the  horrible  obsession  that  Medenham  had  run  off 
with  her  heiress,  noted  that  telltale  blush.  At  present 
her  object  was  to  assist  rather  than  embarrass,  so 
with  a  fine  air  of  motherly  solicitude  she  asked: 

"  Where  did  you  leave  Fitzroy  ?  " 

"  He  saw  preparations  being  made  to  send  boats 
in  search  of  us,  and  he  went  to  stop  them.  Oh,  here 
he  is!" 

Medenham  entered,  and  the  impulsive  Mrs.  Devar 
ran  to  meet  him.  Though  he  had  been  in  the  river 
again  only  five  minutes  earlier,  the  walk  up  a  dust- 
laden  path  had  covered  his  sopping  boots  with  mud, 
and  in  the  not  very  powerful  light  of  the  hall,  where 
a  score  or  more  of  anxious  people  were  collected, 
it  was  difficult  to  notice  that  his  clothes  were  wet. 
But  "  Wiggy  "  Devar  did  not  care  now  whether  or 
not  the  story  told  by  Cynthia  was  true.  With  re- 
action from  the  nightmare  that  had  possessed  her 
since  ten  o'clock  came  a  sharp  appreciation  of  the 
extraordinarily  favorable  turn  taken  by  events  so  far 

219 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

as  she  was  concerned.  If  a  French  count  were  to 
be  supplanted  by  an  English  viscount,  what  better 
opportunity  of  approving  the  change  could  present 
itself? 

"  Mr.  Fitzroy,"  she  said  in  her  shrill  voice,  "  I  can 
never  thank  you  sufficiently  for  the  courage  and  re- 
source you  displayed  in  rescuing  Miss  Vanrenen. 
You  have  acted  most  nobly.  I  am  only  saying  now 
what  Mr.  Vanrenen  will  say  when  his  daughter  and 
I  tell  him  of  your  magnificent  behavior." 

He  reddened  and  tried  to  smile,  though  wishing 
most  heartily  that  these  heroics,  if  unavoidable,  had 
been  kept  for  some  other  time  and  place.  He  could 
not  believe  that  Cynthia  had  exalted  a  not  very  seri- 
ous incident  into  a  "  rescue,"  yet  she  might  be  vexed 
if  he  cheapened  his  own  services.  In  any  event,  it 
was  doubtful  whether  she  would  wish  her  father  to 
hear  of  the  escapade  until  she  told  him  herself  at 
the  close  of  the  tour. 

"  I  am  sure  Miss  Vanrenen  felt  safe  while  in 
my  care,"  was  all  he  dared  to  say,  but  Cynthia 
promptly  understood  his  perplexity  and  came  to 
his  aid. 

"  Mrs.  Devar  thinks  far  more  of  our  adventure 
than  we  do,"  she  broke  in.  "  Our  chief  difficulty  lay 
in  finding  the  road.  The  only  time  I  felt  worried 
was  when  you  crossed  the  river  to  retrieve  the  ferry- 
boat. But  surely  I  have  caused  enough  excitement 
for  to-night.  You  ought  to  take  some  hot  lemonade 
and  go  to  bed." 

220 


The  Hidden  Founts  of  Evil 

A  man  who  had  walked  up  the  hill  from  the  boat- 
house  with  Medenham  laughed  and  slapped  him  on 
the  shoulder. 

"  Come  along,  old  chap !  "  he  cried.  "  You  cer- 
tainly want  a  hot  draught  of  some  sort,  and  you  must 
not  hang  about  in  those  wet  clothes." 

"  Yes,"  purred  Mrs.  Devar,  "  don't  run  the  risk 
of  catching  cold,  Fitzroy.  It  would  spoil  every- 
thing if  you  were  laid  up." 

Her  gracious  manner  almost  deceived  Medenham. 
During  his  years  of  wandering  he  had  come  across 
unexpected  good  qualities  in  men  from  whom  he 
looked  for  naught  but  evil — was  it  the  same  with 
women?  He  hoped  so.  Perhaps  this  scheming  mar- 
riage-broker had  shed  her  worldly  scales  under  the 
stress  of  emotion. 

"  You  need  have  no  fear  that  the  car  will  not  be 
waiting  for  you  in  the  morning,  Mrs.  Devar,"  he  said, 
smiling  frankly  into  her  steel-gray  eyes.  "  Did  you 
say  half-past  nine,  Miss  Vanrenen  ?  "  he  asked,  turn- 
ing to  snatch  one  last  look  at  Cynthia. 

"  Yes.      Good-night — and  thank  you." 

She  offered  her  hand  to  him  before  them  all.  The 
touch  of  her  cool  fingers  was  infinitely  sweet,  but 
when  he  strove  to  surprise  some  hint  of  her  thought 
in  those  twin  pools  of  limpid  light  that  were  wont 
to  gaze  at  him  so  fearlessly  he  failed,  for  all  the 
daring  had  fled  from  Cynthia,  and  he  knew — how 
Heaven  and  lovers  alone  can  tell — that  her  heart  was 
beating  with  a  fright  she  had  not  felt  when  he  stag- 

221 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

gered  under  the  relentless  pressure  of  the  river  while 
holding  her  in  his  arms. 

To  the  lookers-on  the  girl's  outstretched  hand  was 
a  token  of  gratitude;  to  Medenham  it  carried  an 
acknowledgment  of  that  equality  which  should  reign 
between  those  who  love.  His  head  swam  in  a  sudden 
vertigo  of  delight,  and  he  hurried  away  without  utter- 
ing a  word.  There  were  some,  perhaps,  who  won- 
dered; others  who  saw  in  his  brusqueness  nothing 
more  than  the  confusion  of  an  inferior  overwhelmed 
by  the  kindly  condescension  of  a  young  and  charming 
mistress ;  but  the  one  who  did  fully  and  truly  in- 
terpret the  secret  springs  of  his  action  went 
suddenly  white  to  the  lips,  and  her  voice  was 
curiously  low  and  strained  as  she  turned  to  Mrs. 
Devar. 

"  Come,  dear,"  she  murmured,  "  I  am  tired,  it 
would  seem;  and  you,  you  must  be  quite  worn  out 
with  anxiety." 

"  My  darling  child,"  gushed  Mrs.  Devar,  "  I 
should  have  been  nearly  dead  if  I  had  not  known 
that  Fitzroy  was  with  you,  but  he  is  one  of  those 
men  who  inspire  confidence.  I  refused  to  admit  even 
to  myself  that  anything  of  evil  consequence  could 
happen  to  you  while  he  was  present.  How  fortunate 
we  were  that  day  in  town " 

The  man  who  had  suggested  that  the  hotel  phar- 
macist could  dispense  hot  drinks  other  than  lemonade 
nudged  an  acquaintance. 

"  Our  chauffeur  friend  has  a  rippin'  nice  job," 

222 


The  Hidden  Founts  of  Evil 

he  whispered.  "  Wouldn't  mind  taking  his  billet 
myself — it  'ud  be  a  change  from  everlastin'  goff. 
Hello!  Where  is  he?  I  meant  to " 

Medenham  had  gone,  striding  away  up  the  hillside 
in  a  very  frenzy  of  happiness.  Four  days,  and  Cyn- 
thia as  good  as  won!  Was  it  possible,  then,  that 
the  disguised  prince  of  the  fairytale  could  be  a  reality 
— that  such  romances  might  still  be  found  in  this 
gray  old  world  ?  Four  days !  He  could  not  be 
deeper  in  love  with  Cynthia  had  he  known  her  four 
years,  or  forty,  and  he  was  certain  now  that  he  had 
really  loved  her  before  he  had  been  in  her  company 
four  minutes. 

But  these  rhapsodies  were  cut  short  by  his  arrival 
at  the  hotel  garage,  with  the  displeasing  discovery 
that  no  one  named  Dale  had  reached  Symon's  Yat 
that  evening,  while  the  stolid  fact  stared  him  in  the 
face  that  his  cherished  Mercury  demanded  several 
hours  of  hard-working  attentions  if  it  were  to  glisten 
and  hum  in  its  usual  perfection  next  morning. 

"  Queer  thing,"  he  said,  thinking  aloud  rather  than 
addressing  the  stableman  who  had  given  this  dis- 
concerting news.  "  I  have  never  before  known  him 
fail ;  and  I  wired  to  Hereford  early  enough." 

"  Oh,  he's  in  Hereford,  is  he  ?  "  inquired  the  man. 

"  He  ought  not  to  be,  but  he  is,  I  fear." 

"  Then  it'll  be  him  who  axed  for  ye  on  the  tele- 
phone ?  " 

"When?" 

"  It  'ud  be  somewheres  about  a  quarter  or  half 

223 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

past  eight.  Lizzie  tole  me  after  the  old  leddy  kera 
up  to  see  if  you'd  taken  the  car  out." 

Medenham's  wits  were  alert  enough  now. 

"  I  don't  fully  understand,"  he  said.  "  What  old 
lady,  and  why  did  she  come?  " 

"  That's  wot  bothered  me,"  was  the  reply. 
"  Everybody  knew  that  the  young  leddy  an'  you  were 
on  the  Wye:  'deed  to  goodness,  some  of  us  thought 
you  were  in  it.  Anyways,  it  was  long  after  ten  when 

"  You  mean  Mrs.  Devar,  I  suppose — the  older  lady 
of  the  two  who  arrived  in  my  car?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  her.  She  wanted  to  be  sure  the  car 
wasn't  gone,  and  nothing  would  suit  her  but  the 
key  must  be  brought  from  the  orfis  an'  the  coach- 
house door  unlocked  so's  she  could  see  it  with  her 
own  eyes.  Well,  Lizzie  sez  to  me,  '  That's  funny, 
it  is,  because  she  watched  they  two  goin'  on  the  river, 
and  was  in  the  box  a  long  time  telephonin'  to  a  shuff er 
called  Dale,  at  Hereford.'  Thinks  I,  '  It's  funnier 
that  the  shuff  er  who's  here  should  be  expectin'  a  chap 
named  Dale,'  but  I  said  nothink.  I  never  does  to 
wimmen.  Lord  luv  yer,  they'll  twist  a  tale  twenty 
ways  for  Sundays  to  suit  their  own  pupposes  after- 
wards." 

Lightning  struck  from  a  cloudless  sky  a  second 
time  that  night  at  Symon's  Yat,  and  in  its  gleam 
was  revealed  the  duplicity  of  Mrs.  Devar.  Meden- 
ham  could  not  guess  the  double  significance  of  Dale's 
message  and  failure  to  appear,  but  he  was  under 

224 


The  Hidden  Founts  of  Evil 

no  delusion  now  as  to  the  cause  of  those  honeyed 
words.  Dale  had  been  indiscreet,  had  probably 
blurted  out  his  employer's  title,  and  Mrs.  Devar  knew 
at  last  who  the  chauffeur  was  whose  interference  had 
baffled  her  plans. 

He  laughed  bitterly,  but  did  not  pursue  the  inquiry 
any  further. 

"  Can  you  clean  coachwork  and  brass?  "  he  asked, 
stooping  to  unlock  the  toolbox. 

The  stableman  shuffled  uneasily  from  one  foot  to 
the  other.  The  hour  was  past  midnight,  and  the 
alarm  raised  at  the  hotel  had  already  robbed  him  of 
two  hours'  sleep. 

"  Hosses  is  more  in  my  line,"  he  answered  gruffly. 

"  But  if  I  give  you  half  a  sovereign  perhaps  you 
will  not  mind  helping  me.  I  shall  attend  to  the 
engine  myself." 

"  'Arf  a  suv-rin  did  you  say,  mister?  "  came  the 
panting  question. 

"  Yes.  Be  quick !  Off  with  your  coat,  and  get 
busy.  A  man  who  can  groom  a  horse  properly 
ought  to  be  able  to  use  a  rubber  and  hose." 

By  two  o'clock  the  Mercury  was  shining  above  and 
below.  Thoroughly  weary,  yet  well  satisfied  with 
the  day's  record,  Medenham  went  to  bed.  He  was 
up  at  seven,  and  meant  to  talk  severely  to  Dale  after 
breakfast;  then  he  found,  by  consulting  a  directory, 
that  the  small  hotel  where  his  man  had  arranged 
to  stay  did  not  possess  a  telephone.  It  was  annoy- 
ing, but  he  had  the  consolation  of  knowing  that  aa 

225 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

hour's  slow  run  would  bring  him  to  Hereford  and 
reunite  him  with  his  sorely-needed  baggage.  He 
was  giving  a  few  finishing  touches  to  the  car's  toilette, 
when  the  Welsh  waiting-maid  hurried  to  the  garage ; 
Miss  Vanrenen  wanted  him  at  once. 

She  awaited  him  in  the  veranda  of  the  hotel,  which 
fronted  the  southeast.  A  shower  of  June  roses, 
pink  and  crimson  and  white,  bespangled  the  sloping 
roof  and  hid  the  square  posts  that  supported  it,  and 
a  flood  of  vivid  sunshine  irradiated  Cynthia  as  she 
leaned  over  the  low  rail  of  the  balcony  and  smiled 
a  greeting.  She  presented  a  picture  that  was  a 
triumph  of  unconscious  art,  and  her  beauty  affected 
Medenham  more  than  a  deep  draught  of  the  strongest 
wine  ever  vinted  by  man.  Yesterday  she  was  a  charm- 
ing girl,  radiantly  good-looking,  and  likely  to  attract 
attention  even  in  circles  where  pretty  women  were 
plentiful  as  blackberries  in  a  September  thicket,  but 
to-day,  in  Medenham's  eyes,  she  was  a  woodland 
sprite,  an  ethereal  creature  cast  in  no  mortal  mold. 
So  enthralled  was  he  by  the  vision  that  he  failed  to 
note  her  attire.  She  wore  the  muslin  dress  of  the 
previous  night,  and  this,  in  itself,  might  have  pre- 
pared him  for  what  was  to  come. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Fitzroy,"  she  said,  with  a 
fine  attempt  at  re-establishing  those  friendly  relations 
which  might  reasonably  exist  between  the  owner  of 
a  motor-car  and  its  hirer,  "  how  are  you  after  your 
strenuous  labors  of  yesterday?  I  have  heard  all 
about  you.  Fancy  remaining  out  of  bed  till  two 

226 


The  Hidden  Founts  of  Evil 

o'clock!  Couldn't  that  precious  car  of  yours  be 
cleaned  this  morning,  and  by  someone  else?  " 

He  found  his  tongue  at  that. 

"  Mercury  obeys  none  but  Jupiter,"  he  said. 

Her  eyes  met  his  fairly,  and  she  laughed. 

"  That  is  the  first  conceited  thing  I  have  heard 
you  say,"  she  cried,  "  and,  by  Jove,  aren't  you  flying 
high?" 

"  Jupiter  assumed  disguises,"  he  reminded  her. 
"  Once,  when  he  peered  into  an  Olympian  grove,  he 
saw  lo,  and  took  the  form  of  a  youth  so  that  he 
might  talk  with  her.  He  found  her  so  lovable  that 
he  passed  many  a  pleasant  hour  in  her  company 
wandering  on  the  banks  of  the  classic  stream  that 
flowed  through  the  wood,  and  in  those  hours  he  was 
not  Jupiter  but  a  boy,  a  boy  very  much  in  love. 
Every  man  has,  or  ought  to  have,  something  of 
Jupiter,  a  good  deal  of  the  boy,  in  his  make-up." 

He  turned  and  looked  at  the  Wye  and  its  tree- 
shaded  banks.  Then  he  faced  Cynthia  again,  and 
his  hands  rested  on  the  barrier  that  divided  them. 
For  one  mad  instant  he  thought  of  vaulting  it,  and 
Cynthia  read  his  thought ;  she  drew  back  in  a  panic. 
A  less  infatuated  wooer  than  Medenham  might  have 
noted  that  she  seemed  to  fear  interruption  more  than 
any  too  impulsive  action  on  his  part. 

"  I  sent  for  you  to  tell  you  that  Mrs.  Devar  is 
ill,"  she  said  in  a  flurry  of  words.  "  I  am  afraid 
she  suffered  more  from  the  fright  than  I  imagined 
last  night.  Anyhow,  she  has  asked  me  to  let  her 

227 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

remain  here  to-day.  You  won't  mind,  I  am  sure, 
though  it  must  be  a  bother  not  to  have  your  luggage. 
Can't  you  run  in  to  Hereford  and  get  it?  I  am 
quite  content  to  rest  in  this  pretty  place  and  write 
letters." 

"  I  do  honestly  believe  that  Mrs.  Devar  is  more 
frightened  than  ill,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  she  isn't  making  a  fuss  about  it.  Indeed, 
she  was  willing  to  go  to  Hereford  this  afternoon  if 
I  particularly  wanted  to  attend  service  at  the  ca- 
thedral. I  did,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  but  it  would 
be  real  mean  to  insist  on  it  after  scaring  the  poor 
thing  into  a  nervous  headache." 

"  The  affair  arranges  itself  admirably,"  he  said. 
"  At  most  cathedrals  there  is  an  anthem,  followed 
by  a  sermon  by  some  eminent  preacher,  about  three 
o'clock.  Write  your  letters  this  morning,  or,  better 
still,  climb  to  the  top  of  the  Yat  and  see  the  glorious 
view  from  the  top.  Come  back  for  lunch  at  one, 
and " 

"  I'll  see  what  Mrs.  Devar  thinks  of  it,"  broke  in 
Cynthia,  whose  cheeks  were  borrowing  tints  from 
the  red  roses  and  the  white  with  astonishing  fluctua- 
tions of  color.  She  ran  off,  more  like  lo,  the  sylph, 
than  ever,  and  Medenham  stood  there  in  a  brown 
study. 

"  This  sort  of  thing  can't  go  on,"  he  argued  with 
himself.  "  At  any  minute  now  I  shall  be  taking 
her  in  my  arms  and  kissing  her,  and  that  will  not 
be  fair  to  Cynthia,  who  is  proud  and  queenly,  and 

228 


The  Hidden  Founts  of  Evil 

who  will  strive  against  the  dictates  of  her  own  heart 
because  it  is  not  seemly  that  she  should  wed  her 
father's  paid  servant.  So  I  must  tell  her,  to-day — 
perhaps  during  the  run  home  from  Hereford,  per- 
haps to-night.  But,  dash  it  all!  that  will  break 
up  our  tour.  One  ought  to  consider  the  world  we 
live  in;  Cynthia  will  be  one  of  its  leaders,  and  it 
will  never  do  to  have  people  saying  that  Viscount 
Medenham  became  engaged  to  CynthiaVanrenen  while 
acting  as  the  lady's  chauffeur  during  a  thousand-mile 
run  through  the  West  of  England  and  Wales.  Now, 
what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

The  answer  came  from  a  bedroom  window  that 
overlooked  the  veranda. 

"  Mr.  Fitzroy !  " 

He  knew  as  he  looked  up  that  Cynthia  dared  not 
face  him  again,  for  her  voice  was  too  exquisitely 
subtle  in  its  modulations  not  to  betray  its  owner's 
disappointment  before  she  uttered  another  word. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  she  said  rapidly,  "  but  I  feel 
I  ought  not  to  leave  Mrs.  Devar  until  she  is  better, 
so  I  mean  to  remain  indoors  all  day.  I  shall  not 
require  the  car  before  nine  o'clock  to-morrow.  If 
you  like  to  visit  Hereford,  go  at  any  time  that  suits 
your  convenience." 

She  seemed  to  regret  the  curtness  of  her  speech, 
though  indeed  she  was  raging  inwardly  because  of 
certain  barbed  shafts  planted  in  her  breast  by  Mrs. 
Devar's  faint  protests,  and  tried  to  mitigate  the  blow 
she  had  inflicted  by  adding,  with  a  valiant  smile: 

229 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

"  For  this  occasion  only,  Jupiter  must  content  him- 
self with  Mercury  as  a  companion." 

"  If  I  had  Jove's  power "  he  began  wrathfully. 

"  If  you  were  Cynthia  Vanrenen,  you  would  do 
exactly  what  she  is  doing,"  she  cried,  and  fled  from 
the  window. 

It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  he  extracted  some  cold 
comfort  from  that  last  cryptic  remark.  Cynthia 
wanted  to  come,  but  Mrs.  Devar  had  evidently  burked 
the  excursion.  Why?  Because  Cynthia's  escort 
would  be  Viscount  Medenham  and  not  Arthur  Sim- 
monds,  orthodox  and  highly  respectable  chauffeur. 
But  Mrs.  Devar  plainly  declared  herself  on  the  side 
of  Viscount  Medenham  last  night.  Why,  then,  did 
she  stop  a  short  journey  by  motor,  with  the  laudable 
objective  of  hearing  an  anthem  and  a  sermon  in  a 
cathedral,  when  overnight  she  permitted  the  far  less 
defensible  trip  on  the  river  with  the  hated  Fitzroy? 
It  needed  no  great  penetration  to  solve  this  puzzle. 
Mrs.  Devar  was  afraid  of  some  development  that 
might  happen  if  the  girl  visited  Hereford  that  day. 
She  counted  on  Medenham  being  chained  to  Symon's 
Yat  while  Cynthia  was  there — consequently  she  had 
heard  something  from  Dale  that  rendered  it  eminently 
necessary  that  neither  he  nor  Cynthia  should  be  seen 
in  Hereford  on  the  Sunday.  Probably,  too,  she 
did  not  anticipate  that  Cynthia  would  don  the  hair- 
cloth of  self-discipline  and  avoid  him  during  the 
whole  of  the  day,  since  that  was  what  the  girl  meant 
by  her  allusion  to  Monday's  starting-time. 

230 


The  Hidden  Founts  of  Evil 

Perhaps,  using  a  woman's  privilege,  she  might 
change  her  mind  towards  sunset;  meanwhile,  it  be- 
hooved him  to  visit  Hereford  and  pry  into  things 
there. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  a  wise  lover.  Cynthia  might 
dismiss  him  graciously  to  follow  his  own  behests,  but 
it  might  not  please  her  if  she  discovered  that  he 
had  taken  her  permission  too  literally.  He  entered 
the  hotel  and  wrote  a  letter: 

"  My  dear  Miss  Vanrenen "  no  pretense  of 

"  Madam  "  or  other  social  formula,  but  a  plain  and 
large  "  My  dear,"  with  the  name  appended  as  a 
concession  to  the  humbug  of  life,  even  in  regard  to 
the  woman  he  loved — "  I  am  going  to  Hereford,  but 
shall  return  here  for  luncheon.  Mrs.  Devar's  illness 
is  not  likely  to  be  lasting,  and  the  view  from  the 
Yat  is,  if  possible,  better  in  the  afternoon  than  in 
the  morning.  In  addition  to  my  obvious  need  of 
a  clean  collar,  I  believe  that  our  presence  in  Hereford 
to-day  iz  not  desired.  Why?  I  shall  make  it  my 
business  to  find  out.  Yours  ever  sincerely " 

Then  he  reached  a  high  and  stout  stone  wall  of 
difficulty.  Was  he  to  fall  back  on  the  subterfuge 
of  "  George  Augustus  Fitzroy,"  which,  of  course, 
was  his  proper  signature  in  law?  He  disliked  this 
veil  of  concealment  more  and  more  each  instant, 
but  it  was  manifestly  out  of  the  question  that  he 
should  sign  himself  "  Medenham,"  or  "  George," 
while  he  had  fought  several  pitched  battles  at  Harrow 
with  classmates  who  pined  to  label  him  "  Augustus," 

231 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

abbreviated.  So,  greatly  daring,  he  wrote :  "  Mer- 
cury's Guv'nor,"  trusting  to  luck  whether  or  not 
Cynthia's  classical  lore  would  remind  her  that  Mer- 
cury was  the  son  of  Jupiter. 

He  reread  this  effusion  twice,  and  was  satisfied 
with  it  as  the  herald  of  others.  "  My  dear  "  sounded 
well ;  the  intimacy  of  "  our  presence  "  was  not  over- 
done ;  while  "  yours  ever  sincerely  "  was  excellent. 
He  wondered  if  Cynthia  would  analyze  it  word  for 
word  in  that  fashion.  Well,  some  day  he  might  ask 
her.  For  the  present  he  sealed  the  letter  with  a  sigh 
and  gave  it  to  a  waiter  for  safe  delivery ;  he  fancied, 
but  could  not  be  quite  sure,  that  a  good  deal  of  un- 
necessary play  with  the  motor's  Gabriel  horn  five 
minutes  later  brought  a  slender  muslined  figure  to 
a  window  of  the  then  distant  hotel. 

From  Symon's  Yat  to  Hereford  is  about  fifteen 
miles,  and  Medenham  drew  out  of  the  narrow  lane 
leading  from  the  river  to  Whitchurch  about  a  quar- 
ter-past nine.  Thenceforth  a  straight  and  good 
road  lay  clear  before  him,  and  he  meant  to  break 
the  law  as  to  speed  limit  by  traveling  at  the  fastest 
rate  compatible  with  his  own  safety  and  that  of 
other  road-users.  It  was  no  disgrace  to  the  Mer- 
cury car,  therefore,  when  a  dull  report  and  a  sudden 
effort  of  the  steering-wheel  to  swerve  to  the  right 
betokened  the  collapse  of  an  inner  tube  on  the  off 
side.  From  the  motorist's  point  of  view  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  understand  the  cause  of  the  mishap.  The 
whole  four  tires  were  new  so  recently  as  the  previous 

232 


The  Hidden  Founts  of  Evil 

Monday,  and  Medenham  was  far  too  deeply  absorbed 
in  his  own  affairs  to  grasp  the  essential  fact  that 
Fate  was  still  taking  an  intelligent  interest  in  him. 

Of  course,  he  did  not  hurry  over  the  work  as  though 
his  life  depended  on  it.  Even  when  the  cover  was 
replaced  and  the  tire  pumped  to  the  proper  degree 
of  air-pressure  he  lit  a  cigarette  and  had  a  look  at 
the  magneto  before  restarting  the  engine.  Two  small 
boys  had  appeared  from  space,  and  he  amused  him- 
self by  asking  them  to  reckon  how  long  it  would  take 
two  men  to  mow  a  field  of  grass  which  one  of  the 
men  could  mow  in  three  days  and  the  other  in  four. 
He  promised  a  reward  of  sixpence  if  the  correct 
answer  were  forthcoming  in  a  minute,  and  raised  it 
to  a  shilling  during  the  next  minute.  This  stimu- 
lated their  wits  to  suggest  "  a  day  and  three-quar- 
ters "  instead  of  the  first  frantic  effort  of  "  three 
days  and  a  half." 

"  No,"  said  he.  "  Think  it  over,  ponder  it  with 
ardor,  and  if  you  have  the  right  answer  ready  when 
I  pass  this  way  again  about  midday  I'll  give  you  a 
shilling  each." 

There  is  no  saying  what  sum  he  would  have  given 
those  urchins  if  some  magician  had  spoken  by  their 
mouths  and  bade  him  hasten  to  Hereford  with  all 
the  zest  of  all  the  horses  pent  beneath  the  Mercury's 
bonnet.  But  he  left  the  boys  ciphering  on  a  gate 
with  a  bit  of  lead  pencil  which  he  lent  them,  and 
pulled  up  at  the  door  of  the  Green  Dragon  Hotel 
in  Hereford  just  five  minutes  after  the  Sunday  morn- 

233 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

ing  express  to  London  had  snatched  a  fuming  and 
indignant  Earl  of  Fairholme  from  off  the  platform 
of  the  Great  Western  railway  station. 

"  Whose  car?  "  inquired  a  hall-porter. 

"  Mine,"  said  Medenham,  rather  surprised  by  the 
question. 

"  Sorry,  sir.  I  thought  you  might  be  the  party 
Lord  Fairholme  was  expecting." 

"  Did  you  say  '  Lord  Fairholme  '  ?  " 

Medenham  spoke  with  the  slow  accents  of  sheer 
astonishment,  and  the  man  hastened  to  explain. 

"  Yes,  sir.  His  lordship  has  been  a-damnin'  every- 
body since  two  o'clock  yesterday  afternoon  because 
a  Miss  Vanrenen,  who  had  ordered  rooms  here,  didn't 
turn  up.  She's  on  a  motor  tour  through  England, 
so  I  thought " 

"  You  have  made  no  mistake.  But  are  you  quite 
sure  that  the  Earl  of  Fairholme  asked  for  Miss 
Vanrenen  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly  that,  sir,  but  he  seemed  to  be  un- 
common vexed  when  we  could  give  him  no  news  of 
her." 

"  Where  is  his  lordship  now  ?  " 

"  Gone  to  London,  sir,  by  the  10.5.  He  damned 
me  for  the  last  time  half  an  hour  ago." 

"Oh,  did  he?" 

Medenham  glanced  at  his  watch,  twisted  himself 
free  of  the  wheel,  leaped  to  the  pavement,  and  tapped 
one  of  the  hall-porter's  gold  epaulettes  impressively. 

"  I  am  forced  to  believe  that  you  are  speaking  the 

234 


The  Hidden  Founts  of  Evil 

truth,"  he  said.  "  Now,  tell  me  all  about  it,  there's 
a  good  fellow.  I  am  a  bit  rattled,  because,  don't 
you  see,  Lord  Fairholme  is  my  father,  and  he  is  the 
last  man  on  earth  whom  I  would  have  expected  to 
meet  in  Hereford  to-day.  During  the  less  exciting 
intervals  in  his  speech  did  you  find  out  why  he  came 
here?" 

"  Perhaps  the  manageress  may  be  able  to  tell  you 
something,  sir.  Beg  pardon,  but  may  I  ask  your 
name?  " 

"  Medenham." 

The  man  tickled  the  back  of  his  ear  in  doubt,  since 
he  was  aware  that  an  Earl's  son  usually  has  a  cour- 
tesy title. 

"  Lord  Medenham  ?  "  he  hazarded. 

"  Viscount." 

"  I  thought,  perhaps,  you  might  have  been  a  gen- 
tleman named  Fitzroy,  my  lord,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  I  am  that,  too.  If  you  feel  that  I  ought 
to  be  presented  to  the  manageress  in  state,  kindly 
announce  me  as  George  Augustus  Fitzroy,  Viscount 
Medenham,  of  Medenham  Hall,  Downshire,  and  91 
Cavendish  Square,  London." 

The  hall-porter's  eyes  twinkled. 

"  I  didn't  mean  that,  my  lord,  but  there's  a  chauf- 
feur, name  of  Dale " 

"Ah,  what  of  him?" 

"  He  knows  all  about  it,  my  lord,  and  he's  hiding 
in  a  hayloft  down  the  stable  yard  at  this  minnit, 
because  your  lordship's  father  threatened  to  give  him 

235 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

in  charge  for  stealing  a  couple  of  your  portman- 
teaux." 

"  Tell  me  he  thieved  successfully  and  I  shall  fork 
out  handsomely." 

The  man  grinned.  He  was  shrewd  enough  to  real- 
ize that,  no  matter  what  mystery  lay  behind  all  this, 
the  aid  of  the  police  would  not  be  requisitioned. 

"  I  believe "  he  began.  Then  he  made  off, 

with  a  cry  of  "  Wait  just  a  few  seconds,  my  lord. 
I'll  bring  Dale." 

And  Dale  appeared,  picking  bits  of  hay  off  his 
uniform,  and  striving  vainly  to  compose  his  features 
into  their  customary  expression  of  a  stolid  alertness 
that  hears  nothing  but  his  master's  orders,  sees  noth- 
ing that  does  not  concern  his  duties.  He  gave  one 
sharp  glance  at  the  car,  and  his  face  grew  chauffeur- 
ish,  but  the  look  of  hang-dog  despair  returned  when 
he  met  Medenham's  eyes. 

"  I  couldn't  get  away  to  save  me  life,  my  lord," 
he  grumbled.  "  It  was  a  fair  cop  at  Bristol,  an' 
no  mistake.  His  lordship  swooped  down  on  me  an' 
Simmonds  at  the  station,  so  wot  could  I  do  ?  " 

Medenham  laughed. 

"  I  don't  blame  you,  Dale.  You  could  not  have 
been  more  nonplussed  than  I  at  this  moment.  Will 
you  kindly  remember  that  I  know  nothing  whatever 
of  the  Earl's  appearance  either  at  Bristol  or  Here- 
ford  " 

"Gord's  trewth!  Didn't  they  tell  you  I  tele- 
phoned, my  lord  ?  " 

236 


The  Hidden  Founts  of  Evil 

Dale  would  not  have  spoken  in  that  fashion  were 
he  not  quite  woebegone  and  down-hearted;  and  not 
without  reason,  for  the  Earl  had  dismissed  him  with 
contumely  not  once  but  a  dozen  times.  Medenham 
saw  that  his  retainer  would  be  more  muddled  than 
ever  if  he  realized  that  Mrs.  Devar  had  intercepted 
the  telephone  message,  so  he  slurred  over  that  element 
of  the  affair,  and  Dale  quickly  enlightened  him  as 
to  the  course  taken  by  events  after  the  departure  of 
the  Mercury's  tourists  from  Bristol. 

The  Earl,  too,  had  referred  to  Lady  St.  Maur's 
correspondent  at  Bournemouth,  and  Medenham  could 
fill  in  blanks  in  the  story  quite  easily,  but  the  allusions 
to  Marigny  were  less  comprehensible. 

Dale's  distress  arose  chiefly  from  the  Earl's  vows 
of  vengeance  when  he  discovered  that  4iis  son's  bag- 
gage had  been  spirited  away  during  the  breakfast 
hour  that  morning,  but  Medenham  reassured  him. 

"  Don't  bother  your  head  about  that,"  he  said. 
"  I'll  telegraph  and  write  to  my  father  a  full  ex- 
planation to-day.  You  have  obeyed  my  orders,  and 
he  must  blame  me,  not  you,  if  they  ran  counter  to 
his.  Take  charge  of  the  car  while  I  change  my 
clothes  and  make  a  few  inquiries.  To  save  any 
further  mix-up,  you  had  better  come  with  me  to 
Symon's  Yat." 

Within  five  minutes  he  ascertained  that  Count 
Edouard  Marigny  had  occupied  a  room  in  the  Mitre 
Hotel,  just  across  the  street,  since  the  previous  after- 
noon. More  than  that,  the  Frenchman  was  traveling 

237 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

to  London  by  the  same  train  as  the  Earl.  Then 
Medenham  felt  really  angry.  It  was  inconceivable 
that  his  father  should  have  allowed  himself  to  be 
drawn  into  a  pitiful  intrigue  by  such  doubtful  agents 
as  Marigny  and  the  Countess  of  Porthcawl. 

"  I'll  write,"  he  vowed,  "  and  in  pretty  stiff  terms, 
too,  but  I'm  jiggered  if  I'll  wire.  The  old  chap 
should  have  shown  more  confidence  in  me.  Why  on 
earth  didn't  he  announce  his  visit  to  Bristol?  Jolly 
good  job  he  left  Hereford  to-day  before  I  arrived — 
there  might  have  been  ructions.  Good  Lord!  He 
evidently  takes  Cynthia  for  an  adventuress !  " 

Yet,  in  spite  of  the  chance  of  ructions,  it  would 
have  been  far  better  had  Medenham  not  missed  his 
father  that  morning.  He  was  too  dutiful  a  son, 
the  Earl  was  too  fair-minded  a  parent,  that  they 
should  not  be  able  to  meet  and  discuss  matters  with- 
out heat.  By  noon  they  would  have  reached  Sy- 
mon's  Yat;  before  lunch  was  ended  the  older  man 
would  have  been  Cynthia's  most  outspoken  admirer. 
As  it  was — well,  as  it  was — there  used  to  be  a  belief 
in  the  Middle  Ages  that  the  Evil  One's  favorite  nook 
lay  amid  the  deepest  shadow  of  a  cathedral,  and 
modern  fact  is  ofttimes  curiously  akin  to  medieval 
romance. 


238 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  PABTING  OF  THE  WAYS 

WHEN  he  came  to  think  of  it,  Medenham  decided 
to  return  at  once  to  Symon's  Yat.  It  was  advisable, 
however,  to  inform  the  proprietor  of  the  hotel  that 
the  Earl's  denunciation  of  Dale  as  a  pilferer  of  lug- 
gage was  based  on  a  complete  misunderstanding  of 
the  facts.  With  that  object  in  view  he  entered 
the  office ;  another  surprise  awaited  him  there. 

A  lady  bookkeeper,  casting  an  appraising  eye  over 
his  motoring  garments,  asked  instantly: 

"  Are  you  Mr.  Fitzroy,  driver  of  a  Mercury  car, 
Number  XL  4000?" 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  prepared  now  to  see  his  name  and 
description  blazoned  across  the  west  front  of  the  ca- 
thedral. 

"  You  are  wanted  on  the  telephone.  Miss  Van- 
renen  wishes  you  to  ring  her  up." 

After  a  soul-chastening  delay  he  heard  Cynthia's 
voice: 

"  That  you,  Mr.  Fitzroy?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I'm  so  glad  I  caught  you  before  you  hurried 

239 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

away  again.  .  .  .  Er — that  is — I  suppose  you 
traveled  rather  fast,  you  and  Mercury?  " 

He  laughed.  That  was  all.  He  did  not  intend 
to  let  her  assume  so  readily  that  he  had  missed  the 
first  thought  which  bubbled  forth  in  words.  She 
well  knew  that  he  was  not  in  Hereford  from  personal 
choice,  but  she  had  not  meant  to  tell  him  that  she 
knew. 

"  What  are  you  sniggering  at  ?  "  she  demanded 
imperiously. 

"  Only  at  your  divination,"  he  answered.  "  In- 
deed, if  a  tire  had  not  given  out  soon  after  I  left 
Whitchurch  I  would  now  be  well  on  my  way  to  the 
Yat." 

Suddenly  he  recollected  the  singular  outcome  of 
the  incident.  There  was  some  reasonable  probability 
that  it  might  exercise  a  material  effect  on  the  course 
of  events  during  the  next  few  days. 

So,  after  a  little  pause,  he  added :  "  That  is  one 
reason;  there  are  others." 

"  Is  something  detaining  you,  then  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  a  trivial  matter,  but  I  shall  be  at  the  hotel 
long  before  lunch." 

"  Mrs.  Devar  is  much  better.  .  .  .  She  is  so 
sorry  I  remained  indoors  this  morning." 

"  Mrs.  Devar  is  cultivating  angelic  qualities,"  he 
said,  but  he  murmured  under  his  breath :  "  The  old 
cat  finds  now  that  she  has  made  a  mistake." 

"  I  want  you  to  pay  the  hotel  people  for  the  rooms 
I  reserved  but  have  not  occupied.  Then,  perhaps, 

240 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways 

they  will  hand  you  any  mail  that  may  have  been  sent 
after  me.  And  please  give  them  my  address  at  Ches- 
ter. Will  you  do  all  that?  " 

"  Certainly.      There  should  be  no  difficulty." 

"  Is  Hereford  looking  very  lively  ?  " 

"  It  strikes  me  as  peculiarly  empty,"  he  said  with 
convincing  candor. 

"  Shall  we  have  time  to  see  all  the  show  places  to- 
morrow? " 

"  We  shall  make  time." 

"  Well,  good-by !  Bring  my  letters.  I  have  not 
heard  from  my  father  since  we  left  Bournemouth." 

"  Ah,  there  I  have  the  better  of  you.  I  heard 
of,  if  not  from,  my  revered  dad  since  reaching  Here- 
ford." 

"Unexpectedly?" 

"  Oh,  quite." 

"  Nothing  wrong,  I  hope?  " 

"  The  old  gentleman's  temper  seems  to  be  a  trifle 
out  of  gear;  the  present  attack  is  not  serious;  he 
will  survive  it — for  many  years,  I  trust." 

"  You  must  not  be  flippant  where  your  father  is 
concerned.  I  believe  he  is  annoyed  because  you 
came  away  with  me,  and  so  failed  to  keep  the  appoint- 
ment fixed  for  Saturday  in  London.  Eh?  What 
did  you  say?  " 

"  I  said  '  Well,  I  am  surprised,'  or  words  to  that 
effect.  As  my  name  is  George  I  cannot  tell  a  lie, 
so  I  must  admit  regretfully  that  you  have  guessed 
right.  Indeed,  Miss  Vanrenen,  I  may  go  so  far  as 

241 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

to  suggest,  by  letter,  that  before  my  father  condemns 
me  he  should  first  meet  you.  Of  course,  I  shall  warn 
him  that  you  are  irresistible." 

"  Good-by  again,"  said  Cynthia  severely.  "  You 
can  tell  me  all  about  it  after — oh,  some  time  to-day, 
anyhow." 

The  Green  Dragon  proved  to  be  most  undragonish. 
No  manner  of  doubt  was  cast  on  Medenham's  good 
faith;  he  pocketed  half  a  dozen  letters  for  Cynthia, 
and  one,  unstamped,  bearing  the  crest  of  the  Mitre, 
for  Mrs.  Devar.  By  the  merest  chance  he  caught 
sight  of  a  note,  addressed  "  Viscount  Medenham," 
stuck  in  a  rack  among  some  telegrams.  The  hand- 
writing was  his  father's.  But  how  secure  it  without 
arousing  quite  reasonable  suspicion?  He  tried  the 
bold  course. 

"  I  may  as  well  take  that,  too,"  he  said  offhandedly. 

"  Is  Viscount  Medenham  also  in  your  party? " 
inquired  the  bookkeeper. 

"  Yes." 

Again  no  demur  was  raised,  since  the  Earl's  re- 
peated demands  for  information  as  to  Miss  Van- 
renen's  whereabouts  showed  that  some  sort  of  link 
must  exist  between  him  and  the  missing  tourists. 

Medenham  sat  in  his  car  outside  and  read : 

MY  DEAR  GEORGE — If  this  reaches  you,  please  oblige  me  by 
returning  to  town  at  once.  Your  aunt  is  making  a  devil 
of  a  fuss,  and  is  most  unpleasant.  I  say  no  more  now,  since 
I  am  not  sure  that  you  will  be  in  Hereford  before  we  meet. 

Yours  erer, 

F. 

242 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways 

"  I  can  see  myself  being  very  angry  with  Aunt 
Susan,"  he  growled  in  the  first  flush  of  resentment 
against  the  unfairness  of  her  attitude. 

But  that  phase  soon  passed.  His  mind  dwelt 
rather  on  Lady  St.  Maur*s  bland  amazement  when 
she  encountered  Cynthia.  He  could  estimate  with 
some  degree  of  precision  her  ladyship's  views  regard- 
ing the  eighty  millions  of  citizens  of  the  United 
States ;  had  she  not  said  in  his  hearing  that  "  Amer- 
ican society  was  evidently  quite  English — but  with 
the  head  cut  off?  " 

That,  and  a  sarcastic  computation  as  to  the  differ- 
ence between  Ten  Thousand  and  Four  Hundred,  con- 
stituted her  knowledge  of  America.  Still,  he  made 
excuses  for  her.  It  was  no  new  thing  for  an  aris- 
tocracy to  be  narrow-minded.  Horace,  that  fine 
gentleman,  "  hated  the  vulgar  crowd,"  and  Nicolo 
Machiavelli,  fifteen  centuries  later,  denounced  the 
nobles  of  Florence  for  their  "  easy-going  contempt 
of  everything  and  everybody  " ;  so  Lady  St.  Maur 
had  plenty  of  historical  precedent  for  the  coining  of 
cheap  epigrams. 

The  one  person  Medenham  was  really  bitter  against 
was  Millicent  Porthcawl.  She  had  met  Cynthia ;  she 
herself  must  have  frowned  at  the  lying  innuendoes 
written  from  Bournemouth;  it  would  give  him  some 
satisfaction  to  tell  Cynthia  that  the  Porthcawl 
menage  ought  not  to  figure  on  her  visiting  list.  But 
there!  Cynthia  was  too  generous-minded  even  to 
avenge  her  wrongs,  though  well  able  to  deal  with  the 

243 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

Millicents  and  Mauds  and  Susans  if  they  dared  be 
spiteful. 

Then  the  coming  of  Dale  with  various  leather  bags 
roused  him  from  the  reverie  induced  by  his  father's 
curt  missive,  and  he  laughed  at  the  discovery  that 
he  was  fighting  Cynthia's  battles  already. 

The  Mercury  was  raising  a  good  deal  of  dust  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Whitchurch  when  its  occupants 
noticed  a  pair  of  urchins  perched  on  a  gate,  signaling 
frantically.  It  pleased  Medenham  to  mystify  Dale, 
who  was,  if  possible,  more  taciturn  than  ever  since 
those  heart-searching  experiences  at  Gloucester  and 
Hereford. 

He  pulled  up  some  fifty  yards  or  more  down  the 
road. 

"  You  saw  those  boys  ?  "  he  said. 

"Yes,  my  lord,  but  they're  only  having  a  game." 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort.  Skip  along  and  ask  them 
if  they  have  found  out  the  answer.  If  they  say 
'  a  day  and  five-sevenths,'  hand  them  a  shilling  each. 
Any  other  reply  will  be  wrong.  Don't  talk.  Just 
run  there  and  back,  and  pay  only  on  a  day  and  five- 
twelfths." 

Dale  ran.      Soon  he  was  in  his  seat  again. 

"  I  gev'  'em  a  bob  each,  my  lord,"  he  announced, 
grave  as  an  owl. 

While  they  were  running  slowly  down  the  winding 
lane  that  led  to  the  Yat  Medenham  determined  to 
make  sure  of  his  ground  with  reference  to  Mrs.  Devar. 

"  I  suppose  you  left  no  room  for  doubt  as  to  my 

244 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways 

identity  in  the  mind  of  the  lady  to  whom  you  spoke 
over  the  telephone  last  night?  "  he  inquired. 

"  None  whatever,  my  lord.  She  wormed  it  out  of 
me." 

"  Did  you  mention  the  Earl?  " 

"  Like  an  ijjit,  I  began  by  giving  his  lordship's 
name.  It  was  my  only  chanst,  I  couldn't  get  to  the 
post-office  nohow.  Why,  I  was  ordered  to  bed  at 
eight  o'clock,  so's  his  lordship  could  smoke  in  peace, 
as  he  said." 

"  Then  my  father  was  determined  to  stop  you 
from  communicating  with  me,  if  possible  ?  " 

"  If  his  lordship  knew  that  I  crep'  down  a  back 
stairs  to  the  telephone  I  do  believe  he'd  have  set  about 
me  with  a  poker,"  said  Dale  grimly. 

"  Strange !  "  mused  Medenham,  with  eyes  now  more 
intent  on  the  hotel  than  on  the  road.  "  Influences 
other  than  Aunt  Susan's  must  be  at  work.  My 
father  would  never  have  rushed  off  in  a  fever  from 
town  merely  because  of  some  ill-natured  gossip  in 
a  letter  from  Lady  Porthcawl." 

His  mind  flew  to  the  Earl's  allusions  to  Marigny, 
and  it  occurred  to  him  then  that  the  latter  had  used 
his  father's  name  at  Bristol.  He  turned  to  Dale 
again. 

"  Before  this  business  is  ended  I  shall  probably  find 
it  necessary  to  kick  a  Frenchman,"  he  said. 

"  Make  it  two  of  'em,  my  lord,  an'  let  me  take  it 
out  of  the  other  one,"  growled  Dale. 

"  Well,  there  is  a  bottle-holder,"  said  Medenham, 

245 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

thinking  of  Devar,  "  a  short,  fat  fellow,  an  English- 
man, but  a  most  satisfactory  subject  for  a  drop 
kick." 

"  Say  when,  my  lord,  an'  I'll  score  a  goal  with 
him."  * 

Dale  seemed  to  be  speaking  feelingly,  but  his  mas- 
ter paid  slight  heed  to  him  then.  A  girl  in  muslin, 
wearing  a  rather  stylish  hat — now,  where  did  Cynthia 
get  a  hat? — had  just  sauntered  to  that  end  of  the 
hotel's  veranda  which  gave  a  glimpse  of  the  road. 

"  Make  yourself  comfortable  in  one  of  the  cottages 
hereabouts,"  was  Medenham's  parting  instruction  to 
his  man.  "  I  don't  suppose  the  car  will  be  needed 
again  to-day,  but  you  might  refill  the  petrol  tank — 
on  the  off  chance." 

"  Yes— my  lord." 

Dale  lifted  his  cap.  The  ostler  who  had  helped 
in  the  cleaning  of  the  car  overnight  was  standing 
near  the  open  doors  of  the  coach-house.  He  might 
not  have  heard  the  words,  but  he  certainly  saw  the 
respectful  action.  His  eyes  grew  round,  and  his  lips 
pursed  to  give  vent  to  an  imaginary  whistle. 

"  7  knew,"  he  told  himself.  "  He's  a  toff,  that's 
wot  he  is.  Mum's  the  word,  Willyum.  Say  nothink, 
'specially  to  wimmin !  " 

Bowing  low  before  his  smiling  goddess,  Medenham 
produced  the  packet  of  letters.  It  happened  that 
the  unstamped  note  for  Mrs.  Devar  lay  uppermost, 
and  Cynthia  guessed  some  part,  at  least,  of  its  con- 
tents. 

246 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways 

"  Poor  Monsieur  Marigny !  "  she  cried.  "  I  fear 
he  had  a  cheerless  evening  in  Hereford.  This  is  from 
him.  I  know  his  handwriting.  .  .  .  While  father 
and  I  were  in  Paris  he  often  sent  invitations  for 
fixtures  at  the  Velo — once  for  a  coach-drive  to  Fon- 
tainebleau.  I  was  rather  sorry  I  missed  that" 

Medenham  thanked  her  in  his  heart  for  that  little 
pause.  No  printed  page  could  be  more  legible  than 
Cynthia's  thought-processes.  How  delightful  it  was 
to  feel  that  her  unspoken  words  were  mirrored  in  his 
own  brain ! 

But  these  lover-like  beatitudes  were  interrupted  by 
a  slight  shriek.  She  had  glanced  curiously  at  a  post- 
mark, ripped  open  an  envelope,  and  was  reading 
something  that  surprised  her  greatly. 

"  Well,  of  all  the  queer  things ! "  she  cried. 
"  Here's  father  in  London.  He  started  from  Paris 
yesterday  afternoon,  and  found  he  had  just  time  to 
send  me  a  line  by  paying  a  special  postal  fee  at 
Paddington.  .  .  .  What?  .  .  .  Mrs.  Leland  go- 
ing to  join  us  at  Chester!  .  .  .  Wire  if  I  get 
this!  .  .  ." 

She  reread  the  letter  with  heightened  color. 
Medenham's  heart  sank  to  his  boots  while  he  watched 
her.  Whosoever  Mrs.  Leland  might  be — and  Cyn- 
thia's first  cry  of  the  name  sent  a  shock  of  recogni- 
tion through  him — it  was  fully  evident  that  the  addi- 
tion of  another  member  to  the  party  would  straight- 
way shut  him  out  of  his  Paradise.  Mrs.  Devar,  in 
the  role  of  guardian,  had  been  disposed  of  satisfac- 

247 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

torily,  but  "  Mrs.  Leland  "  was  more  than  a  doubtful 
quantity.  For  some  kindred  reason,  perhaps,  Cyn- 
thia chose  to  turn  and  look  at  the  sparkling  Wye 
when  next  she  spoke. 

"  I  don't  see  why  Mrs.  Leland's  unexpected  ap- 
pearance should  make  any  real  difference  to  our 
tour,"  she  said  in  the  colorless  tone  of  one  who  seeks 
rather  than  imparts  conviction.  "  There  is  plenty 
of  room  in  the  car.  We  must  take  the  front  seat 
in  turn,  that  is  all." 

"  May  I  ask  who  Mrs.  Leland  is  ?  "  he  asked,  and, 
if  his  voice  was  ominously  cold,  it  may  be  urged  in 
extenuation  that  in  matters  affecting  Cynthia  he  was 
no  greater  adept  at  concealing  his  thoughts  than  the 
girl  herself. 

"  An  old  friend  of  ours,"  she  explained  hurriedly. 
"  In  fact,  her  husband  was  my  father's  partner  till 
he  died,  some  years  ago.  She  is  a  charming  woman, 
quite  a  cosmopolitan.  She  lives  in  Paris  'most  all 
the  time,  but  I  fancied  she  was  at  Trouville  for  the 
summer.  I  wonder  ..." 

She  read  the  letter  a  third  time.  Drooping  lids 
and  a  screen  of  heavy  eyelashes  veiled  her  eyes,  and 
when  the  fingers  holding  that  disturbing  note  rested 
on  the  rail  of  the  veranda  again,  still  those  radiant 
blue  eyes  remained  invisible,  and  the  eloquent  eye- 
brows were  not  arched  in  laughing  bewilderment  but 
straightened  in  silent  questioning. 

"  Mr.  Vanrenen  gives  no  details,"  she  said  at  last, 
and  seldom,  indeed,  did  "  Mr.  Vanrenen "  replace 

248 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways 

"  father  "  in  her  speech.  "  Perhaps  he  was  writing 
against  time,  though  he  might  have  told  me  less  about 
the  post  and  more  of  Mrs.  Leland.  Anyhow,  he 
has  a  fine  Italian  hand  in  some  things,  and  may  be 
this  is  one  of  them.  .  .  .  But  I  must  telegraph  at 
once." 

Medenham  roused  himself  to  set  forth  British  idio- 
syncrasies on  the  question  of  Sunday  labor.  He 
remembered  the  telephone,  however,  and  Cynthia  went 
off  to  try  and  get  in  touch  with  the  Savoy  Hotel. 
He  withdrew  a  little  way,  and  began  to  smoke  a 
reflective  cigar,  for  he  knew  now  who  Mrs.  Leland 
was.  In  twenty  minutes  or  less  Cynthia  came  to 
him.  It  was  difficult  to  account  for  her  obvious 
perplexity,  though  he  could  have  revealed  some  of 
its  secret  springs  readily  enough. 

"  I'm  sorry  I  shall  not  be  able  to  take  that  walk, 
Mr.  Fitzroy,"  she  said,  frankly  recognizing  the  tacit 
pact  between  them.  "  We  have  a  long  day  before 
us  to-morrow,  and  we  must  make  Chester  in  good 
time,  as  Mrs.  Leland  is  coming  alone  from  London. 
Meanwhile,  I  must  attend  to  my  correspondence." 

"  Ah.     You  have  spoken  to  Mr.  Vanrenen,  then  ?  '* 

"  No.  He  was  not  in  the  hotel,  but  he  left  a 
message  for  me,  knowing  that  I  was  more  likely  tc* 
'phone  than  wire." 

She  was  troubled,  disturbed,  somewhat  resentful  of 
this  unforeseen  change  in  the  programme  arranged 
for  the  next  few  days.  Medenham  could  have  chosen 
no  more  unhappy  moment  for  what  he  had  to  say, 

2-19 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

but  during  those  twenty  minutes  of  reflection  a  defi- 
nite line  of  action  had  been  forced  upon  him,  and 
he  meant  to  follow  it  to  the  only  logical  end. 

"  I  am  glad  now  that  I  mentioned  my  own  little 
difficulty  at  Hereford,"  he  said.  "  Since  alterations 
are  to  be  the  order  of  the  day  at  Chester,  will  you 
allow  me  to  provide  another  driver  for  the  Mercury 
there?  You  will  retain  the  car,  of  course,  but  my 
place  can  be  taken  by  a  trustworthy  man  who  under- 
stands it  quite  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  You  mean  that  you  are  dropping  out  of  the 
tour,  then?  " 

"  Yes." 

She  shot  one  indignant  glance  at  his  impassive 
face,  for  he  held  in  rigid  control  the  fire  that  was 
consuming  him. 

"  Rather  a  sudden  resolve  on  your  part,  isn't  it  ? 
What  earthly  difference  does  the  presence  of  another 
lady  in  our  party  make  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  thinking  matters  over,"  he  said 
doggedly.  "  Would  you  mind  reading  my  father's 
letter?  " 

He  held  out  the  note  received  at  the  Green  Dragon, 
but  she  ignored  it. 

"  I  take  it  for  granted  that  you  have  the  best  of 
reasons  for  wishing  to  go,"  she  murmured. 

"  Please  oblige  me  by  reading  it,"  he  persisted. 

Perhaps,  despite  all  his  self-restraint,  some  hint 
of  the  wild  longing  in  his  heart  to  tell  her  once  and 
for  all  that  no  power  under  that  of  the  Almighty 

250 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways 

should  tear  him  from  her  side  moved  her  to  relent. 
She  took  the  letter,  and  began  to  read. 

"  Why,"  she  cried,  "  this  was  written  at  Here- 
ford? " 

"  Yes.  My  father  waited  there  all  night.  He 
left  for  town  only  a  few  minutes  before  I  entered 
the  hotel  this  morning." 

She  read  with  puzzled  brows,  smiled  a  little  at 
"  Your  aunt  is  making  a  devil  of  a  fuss,"  and  passed 
quite  unheeded  the  solitary  "  F."  in  the  signature. 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  go  to-day,"  she  commented. 

"  Not  because  of  any  argument  advanced  there," 
he  growled  passionately. 

"  But  your  aunt  .  .  .  she  is  a  making — a  fuss. 
One  has  to  conciliate  aunts  at  times." 

"  My  aunt  is  really  a  most  estimable  person.  I 
promise  myself  some  amusement  when  she  explains 
the  origin  of  the  *  fuss  '  to  you." 

"To  me?" 

"  Yes.  Have  I  not  your  permission  to  bring  her 
to  see  you  in  London?  " 

"  Something  was  said  about  that." 

"  May  I  add  that  I  hope  to  make  Mr.  Vanrenen's 
acquaintance  on  Tuesday  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  in  rather  a  startled  way. 

"  Are  you  going  to  call  and  see  my  father?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Yes." 

"But — why,  exactly?" 

"  In  the  first  place,  to  give  him  news  of  your  well- 

251 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

being.  Letters  are  good,  but  the  living  messenger 
is  better.  Secondly,  I  want  to  find  out  just  why 
he  traveled  from  Paris  to  London  yesterday." 

The  air  was  electric  between  them.  Each  knew 
that  the  other  was  striving  to  cloak  emotions  that 
threatened  at  any  moment  to  throw  off  the  last  vestige 
of  concealment. 

"  My  father  is  a  very  clever  man,  Mr.  Fitzroy," 
she  said  slowly.  "  If  he  did  not  choose  to  tell 
you  why  he  did  a  thing,  you  could  no  more  ex- 
tract the  information  from  him  than  from  a  bit 
of  marble." 

"  He  has  one  weak  point,  I  am  sure,"  and  Meden- 
ham  smiled  confidently  into  her  eyes. 

"  I  do  not  know  it,"  she  murmured. 

"  But  I  know  it,  though  I  have  never  seen  him. 
He  is  vulnerable  through  his  daughter." 

Her  cheeks  flamed  into  scarlet,  and  her  lips 
trembled,  but  she  strove  valiantly  to  govern  her 
voice. 

"  You  must  be  very  careful  in  anything  you  say 
about  me,"  she  said  with  a  praiseworthy  attempt  at 
light  raillery. 

"  I  shall  be  careful  with  the  care  of  a  man  who 
has  discovered  some  rare  jewel,  and  fears  lest  each 
shadow  should  conceal  an  enemy  till  he  has  reached 
a  place  of  utmost  security." 

She  sighed,  and  her  glance  wandered  away  into 
the  sun-drowned  valley. 

"  Such  fortresses  are  rare  and  hard  to  find,"  she 

252 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways 

said.  "  Take  my  own  case.  I  was  really  enjoying 
this  pleasant  tour  of  ours,  yet  it  is  broken  in  two, 
as  it  were,  by  some  force  beyond  our  control,  and 
the  severance  makes  itself  felt  here,  in  this  secluded 
nook,  a  retreat  not  even  marked  on  our  self-drawn 
map.  Where  could  one  be  more  secure — as  you  put 
it — less  open  to  that  surge  of  events  that  drives 
resistlessly  into  new  seas?  I  am  something  of  a 
fatalist,  Mr.  Fitzroy,  though  the  phrase  sounds 
strange  on  my  lips.  Yet  I  feel  that  after  to-morrow 
we  shall  not  meet  again  so  soon  or  so  easily  as  you 
imagine,  and — if  I  may  venture  to  advise  one  much 
more  experienced  than  myself — the  way  that  leads 
least  hopefully  to  my  speedy  introduction  to  your 
aunt  is  that  you  should  see  my  father,  before  I  rejoin 
him.  You  know,  I  am  sure,  that  I  look  on  you 
rather  as  a  friend  than  a  mere — a  mere ' 

"  Slave,"  he  suggested,  trying  to  wrench  some 
spark  of  humor  out  of  the  iron  in  their  souls. 

"  Don't  be  stupid.  I  mean  that  you  and  I  have 
met  on  an  equality  that  I  would  deny  to  Simmonds 
or  to  any  of  the  dozen  chauffeurs  we  have  employed 
in  various  parts  of  the  world.  And  I  want  to  warn 
you  of  this — knowing  my  father  as  well  as  I  do — 
I  am  certain  he  has  asked  Mrs.  Leland's  help  for 
the  undertaking  that  others  have  failed  in.  I — can't 
say  more.  I " 

"  Cynthia,  dear !  I  have  been  looking  for  you 
everywhere,"  cried  a  detested  voice.  "  Ah,  there  you 
are,  Mr.  Fitzroy ! "  and  Mrs.  Devar  bustled  forward 

253 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

cheerfully.  "  You  have  been  to  Hereford,  I  hear. 
How  kind  and  thoughtful  of  you !  Were  there  any 
letters  for  me  ?  " 

"  Sorry,"  broke  in  Cynthia.  "  I  was  so  absorbed 
in  my  own  news  that  I  forget  yours.  Here  is  your 
letter.  It  is  only  from  Monsieur  Marigny,  to  blow 
both  of  us  up,  I  suppose,  for  leaving  him  desolate 
last  night.  But  what  do  you  think  of  my  budget? 
My  father  is  in  London;  Mrs.  Leland,  a  friend  of 
ours,  joins  us  at  Chester  to-morrow;  and  Fitzroy 
deserts  us  at  the  same  time." 

Mrs.  Devar*s  eyes  bulged  and  her  lower  jaw  fell 
a  little.  She  could  hardly  have  exhibited  more  sig- 
nificant tokens  of  alarm  had  each  of  Cynthia's  un- 
welcome statements  been  punctuated  by  the  crash  of 
artillery  fired  in  the  garden  beneath. 

During  a  long  night  and  a  weary  morning  she 
had  labored  hard  at  the  building  of  a  new  castle 
in  Spain,  and  now  it  was  dissipated  at  a  breath.  Her 
sky  had  fallen ;  she  was  plunged  into  chaos ;  her  brain 
reeled  under  these  successive  shocks. 

"  I — don't  understand,"  she  gasped,  panting  as  if 
she  had  run  across  vast  stretches  of  that  vague 
"  everywhere  "  during  her  quest  of  Cynthia. 

"  None  of  us  understands.  That  is  not  the  essence 
of  the  contract.  Anyhow,  father  is  in  England, 
Mrs.  Leland  will  be  in  Chester,  and  Fitzroy  is  for 
London.  He  is  the  only  real  hustler  in  the  crowd. 
Unless  my  eyes  deceived  me,  he  brought  his  successor 
in  the  car  from  Hereford.  Really,  Mr.  Fitzroy, 

254 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways 

don't  you  think  you  ought  to  skate  by  the  next 
train?" 

"  I  prefer  waiting  till  to-morrow  evening  if  you 
will  permit  it,"  he  said  humbly. 

Cynthia  was  lashing  herself  into  a  very  fair  sem- 
blance of  hot  anger.  She  felt  that  she  was  tram- 
meled in  a  net  of  deception,  and,  like  the  freedom- 
loving  American  that  she  was,  she  resented  the  toils 
none  the  less  because  their  strands  remained  invisible. 
Seeing  Medenham's  crestfallen  aspect  at  her  unjust 
charge  with  reference  to  Dale's  presence,  she  bit  her 
lip  with  a  laugh  of  annoyance  and  turned  on  Mrs. 
Devar. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  she  cried,  "  that  Count  Edouard 
Marigny  has  been  taking  an  interest  in  me  that  is 
certainly  not  warranted  by  any  encouragement  on 
my  part.  Open  your  letter,  Mrs.  Devar,  and  see  if 
he,  too,  is  on  the  London  trail.  .  .  .  Ah,  well — 
perhaps  I  am  mistaken.  I  was  so  vexed  for  the 
moment  that  I  thought  he  might  have  telegraphed 
to  father  when  we  did  not  turn  up  at  Hereford.  Of 
course,  that  is  sheer  nonsense.  He  couldn't  have 
done  it.  Father  was  in  England  before  Monsieur 
Marigny  was  aware  of  our  failure  to  connect  with 
Hereford.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  is  vexing  me, 
but  something  is,  or  somebody,  and  I  want  to  quar- 
rel with  it,  or  him,  or  her,  real  bad." 

Without  waiting  for  any  opening  of  Marigny's 
note  she  ran  off  to  her  room.  Medenham  had  turned 
to  leave  the  hotel  when  he  heard  a  gurgling  cry : 

255 


Cyntliias  Chauffeur 

"  Mr.  Fitzroy — Lord  Medenham — what  does  it  all 
mean?  " 

Mrs.  Devar's  distress  was  pitiable.  Snatches  of 
talk  overheard  in  Paris  and  elsewhere  warned  her  that 
Mrs.  Leland  would  prove  an  unconquerable  foe.  She 
was  miserably  conscious  that  her  own  letter,  posted 
overnight,  would  rise  up  in  judgment  against  her, 
but  already  she  had  devised  the  plausible  excuse  that 
the  very  qualities  which  were  excellent  in  a  viscount 
were  most  dangerous  in  a  chauffeur.  Nevertheless, 
the  letter,  ill-advised  though  it  might  be,  could  not 
account  for  Peter  Vanrenen's  sudden  visit  to  Eng- 
land. She  might  torture  her  wits  for  a  year  without 
hitting  on  the  truth,  since  the  summoning  of  the 
millionaire  to  the  rescue  appeared  to  be  the  last  thing 
Count  Edouard  Marigny  would  dream  of  doing.  She 
actually  held  in  her  hand  a  summary  of  the  telegrams 
he  had  dispatched  from  Bristol,  but  her  mind  was 
too  confused  to  work  in  its  customary  grooves,  and 
she  blurted  out  Medenham's  title  in  a  frantic  attempt 
to  gain  his  support. 

"  It  means  this,"  he  said  coolly,  resolved  to  clear 
the  ground  thoroughly  for  Mrs.  Devar's  benefit; 
"  your  French  ally  is  resorting  to  the  methods  of  the 
blackmailer.  If  you  are  wise  you  will  cut  yourself 
entirely  adrift  from  him,  and  warn  your  son  to  follow 
your  example.  I  shall  deal  with  Monsieur  Marigny 
— have  no  doubt  on  that  score — and  if  you  wish 
me  to  forget  certain  discreditable  incidents  that  have 
happened  since  we  left  London  you  will  respect  my 

256 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways 

earnest  request  that  Miss  Vanrenen  shall  not  be  told 
anything  about  me  by  you.  I  mean  to  choose  my 
own  time  and  place  for  the  necessary  explanations. 
They  concern  none  but  Miss  Vanrenen  and  myself, 
in  the  first  instance,  and  her  father  and  mine,  in  the 
second.  I  have  observed  that  you  can  be  a  shrewd 
woman  when  it  serves  your  interests,  Mrs.  Devar, 
and  now  you  have  an  opportunity  of  adding  discre- 
tion to  shrewdness.  I  take  it  you  are  asking  for 
my  advice.  It  is  simple  and  to  the  point.  Enjoy 
yourself,  cease  acting  as  a  matrimonial  agent,  and 
leave  the  rest  to  me." 

The  residents  in  the  hotel  were  gathering  in  the 
veranda,  as  the  luncheon  hour  was  approaching,  so 
Mrs.  Devar  could  not  press  him  to  be  more  explicit. 
In  the  privacy  of  her  own  room  she  read  Marigny's 
letter.  Then  she  learnt  why  Cynthia's  father  had 
hurried  across  the  Channel,  for  the  Frenchman  had 
not  scrupled  to  warn  him  that  his  presence  was  im- 
perative if  he  would  save  his  daughter  from  a  rogue 
who  had  replaced  the  confidential  Simmonds  as  chauf- 
feur. 

Forthwith,  Mrs.  Devar  became  more  dazed  than 
ever.  She  felt  that  she  must  confide  in  someone, 
so  she  wrote  a  full  account  of  events  at  Symon's  Yat 
to  her  son.  It  was  the  worst  possible  thing  she 
could  have  done.  Unconsciously — for  she  was  now 
anxious  to  help  instead  of  hindering  Medenham's 
wooing — some  of  the  gall  in  her  nature  distilled  itself 
into  words.  She  dwelt  on  the  river  episode  with  all 

257 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

the  sly  rancor  of  the  inveterate  scandalmonger.  She 
was  really  striving  to  depict  her  own  confusion  of 
ideas  when  stunned  by  the  discovery  of  Medenham's 
position,  but  she  only  succeeded  in  stringing  together 
a  series  of  ill-natured  innuendoes.  Sandwiched  be- 
tween each  paragraph  of  the  story  were  the  true 
gossip's  catchwords — thus:  "  What  was  I  to  think?  " 
"  What  would  people  say  if  they  knew  ?  "  "  My  dear, 
just  picture  your  mother's  predicament  when  mid- 
night struck,  and  there  was  no  news !  "  "  Of  course, 
one  makes  allowances  for  an  American  girl,"  and  the 
rest. 

Though  this  soured  woman  was  a  ready  letter- 
writer,  she  was  no  reader,  or  in  days  to  come  she 
might  have  parodied  Pope's  "  Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuth- 
not": 

Why  did  I  write?    What  sin  to  me  unknown 
Dipped  me  in  ink? — my  parents',  or  my  own? 

Not  content  with  her  outpouring  to  Devar  she 
dashed  off  a  warning  to  Marigny.  She  imagined 
that  the  Frenchman  would  grin  at  his  broken  for- 
tunes, and  look  about  for  another  heiress !  And 
so,  abandoning  a  meal  to  the  fever  of  scribbling, 
she  packed  more  mischief  into  an  hour  than  any 
elderly  marriage-broker  in  Europe  that  day,  and 
waddled  off  to  the  letterbox  with  a  sense  of  consola- 
tion, strong  in  the  belief  that  the  morrow  would 
bring  telegrams  to  guide  her  in  the  fray  with  Mrs. 
Leland. 

258 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways 

Medenham  sent  a  short  note  to  his  father,  saying 
that  he  would  reach  London  about  midnight  next 
day  and  asking  him  to  invite  Aunt  Susan  to  lunch 
on  Tuesday.  Then  he  waited  in  vain  for  sight  of 
Cynthia  until,  driven  to  extremes  by  teatime,  he 
got  one  of  the  maids  to  take  her  a  verbal  message, 
in  which  he  stated  that  the  climb  to  the  summit  of 
the  Yat  could  be  made  in  half  an  hour. 

The  reply  was  deadening. 

"  Miss  Vanrenen  says  she  is  busy.  She  does  not 
intend  to  leave  the  hotel  to-day;  and  will  you  please 
have  the  car  ready  at  eight  o'clock  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 

Then  Medenham  smiled  ferociously,  for  he  had 
just  ascertained  that  "the  local  telegraph  office  opened 
at  eight.  . 

"  Kindly  tell  Miss  Vanrenen  that  we  had  better 
make  a  start  some  few  minutes  earlier,  because  we 
have  a  long  day's  run  before  us,"  he  said. 

And  he  hummed  a  verse  of  "  Young  Lochinvar  " 
as  he  moved  away,  thereby  provoking  the  maid- 
servant to  an  expression  of  opinion  that  some  folk 
thought  a  lot  of  themselves — but  as  for  London 
shuffers  and  their  manners — well  there! 


259 


CHAPTER  XII 

MASaTJES,  ANCIENT  AND  MODERN 

THE  clouds  did  not  lift  until  Cynthia  was  standing 
in  front  of  that  remarkable  Map  of  the  World  which 
reposes  behind  oaken  doors  in  the  south  aisle  of 
Hereford  Cathedral.  During  the  run  from  Symon's 
Yat,  not  even  a  glorious  sun  could  dispel  the  vapors 
of  that  unfortunate  Sunday.  Cynthia  had  smiled  a 
"  Good-morning  "  when  she  entered  the  car,  but  be- 
yond one  quick  glance  around  to  see  if  the  deputy 
chauffeur  was  in  attendance — which  Medenham  took 
care  he  should  not  be — she  gave  no  visible  sign  of 
yesterday's  troubles,  though  her  self-contained  man- 
ner showed  that  they  were  present  in  her  thoughts. 

Mrs.  Devar  tried  to  be  gracious,  and  only  suc- 
ceeded in  being  stilted,  for  the  shadow  of  impending 
disaster  lay  black  upon  her.  Medenham's  only  thrill 
came  when  Cynthia  asked  for  letters  or  telegrams 
at  the  Green  Dragon,  and  was  told  there  was  none. 
Evidently,  Peter  Vanrenen  was  not  a  man  to  create 
a  mountain  out  of  a  molehill.  Mrs.  Leland  might 
be  trusted  to  smooth  away  difficulties;  perhaps  he 
meant  to  await  her  report  confidently  and  in  silence. 

260 


Masques,  Ancient  and  Modern 

But  that  square  of  crinkled  vellum  on  which  Rich- 
ard of  Holdingham  and  Lafford  had  charted  this 
strange  old  world  of  ours  as  it  appeared  during  the 
thirteenth  century  helped  to  blow  away  the  mists. 

"  I  never  knew  before  that  the  Garden  of  Eden 
was  inside  the  Arctic  Circle,"  said  the  girl,  gazing 
awe-stricken  at  the  symbolic  drawings  of  the  eating 
of  the  forbidden  fruit  and  the  expulsion  of  Adam  and 
Eve  from  Paradise. 

"  No  later  than  yesterday  I  fancied  it  might  have 
been  situated  in  the  Wye  Valley,"  commented  Meden- 
ham. 

The  cast  was  skillful,  but  the  fish  did  not  rise. 
Instead,  Cynthia  bent  nearer  to  look  at  Lot's  wife, 
placed  in  situ. 

"  Too  bad  there  is  no  word  about  America,"  she 
said  irrelevantly. 

"  Oh,  even  at  that  date  the  United  States  were  on 
the  other  side.  You  see,  Richard  was  a  person  of 
intelligence.  He  anticipated  Galileo  by  making  the 
earth  round,  so  he  would  surely  get  ahead  of  Colum- 
bus in  guessing  at  a  New  World." 

They  were  the  only  tourists  in  the  cathedral  at 
that  early  hour,  so  the  attendant  verger  tolerated 
this  flippancy. 

"  In  the  left-hand  corner,"  he  recited,  "  you  see 
Augustus  Csesar  delivering  orders  for  a  survey  of  the 
world  to  the  philosophers  Nichodoxus,  Theodotus, 
and  Polictitus.  Near  the  center  you  have  the 
Labyrinth  of  Crete,  the  Pyramids  of  Egypt,  the 

261 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

House  of  Bondage,  the  Jews  worshiping  the  Golden 
Calf " 

"  Ah,  what  a  pity  we  left  Mrs.  Devar  at  the  post- 
office — how  she  would  have  appreciated  this !  "  mur- 
mured Medenham. 

Still  Cynthia  refused  to  take  the  fly. 

"  May  we  visit  the  library  ?  "  she  asked,  dazzling 
the  verger  with  a  smile  in  her  best  manner.  "  I 
have  heard  so  much  about  the  books  in  chains,  and 
the  Four  Gospels  in  Anglo-Saxon  characters.  Is 
the  volume  really  a  thousand  years  old?  " 

From  the  Cathedral  they  wandered  into  the  beau- 
tiful grounds  of  the  Bishop's  Palace,  where  a  brass 
plate,  set  in  a  boundary  wall,  states  in  equivocal 
phrase  that  "  Nell  Gwynne,  Founder  of  Chelsea  Hos- 
pital, and  Mother  of  the  first  Duke  of  St.  Albans," 
was  born  near  the  spot  thus  marked.  Each  remem- 
bered the  irresponsible  chatter  of  Saturday,  but 
neither  alluded  to  it,  nor  did  Medenham  offer  to  lead 
Cynthia  to  Garrick's  birthplace.  Not  forty-eight 
hours,  but  long  years,  as  measured  by  the  seeming 
trivialities  that  go  to  make  or  mar  existence,  spanned 
the  interval  between  Bristol  and  Hereford.  They 
chafed  against  the  bonds  of  steel  that  yet  sundered 
them;  they  resented  the  silent  edict  that  aimed  at 
parting  them:  by  a  hundred  little  artifices  each 
made  clear  to  the  other  that  the  coming  separation 
was  distasteful,  while  an  eager  interest  in  the  com- 
monplace supplied  sure  index  of  their  embarrass- 
ment. And  so,  almost  as  a  duty,  the  West  Front, 

262 


Fitzroy  poses  as  the  first  Earl  of  Chepstow. 


Page  263 


Masques.,  Ancient  and  Modern 

the  North  Porch,  the  Close,  the  Green,  the  Wye 
Bridge,  were  duly  snap-shotted  and  recorded  in  a 
little  book  that  Cynthia  carried. 

Once,  while  she  was  making  a  note,  Medenham  held 
the  camera,  and  happened  to  watch  her  as  she  wrote. 
At  the  top  of  a  page  he  saw  "  Film  6,  No.  5 :  Fitzroy 
poses  as  the  first  Earl  of  Chepstow."  Cynthia's 
left  hand  hid  the  entry  just  a  second  too  late. 

"  I  couldn't  help  seeing  that,"  he  said  innocently. 
"  If  you  will  give  me  a  print,  I  shall  have  it 
framed  and  place  it  among  the  other  family 
portraits." 

"  I  really  meant  to  present  you  with  an  album 
containing  all  the  pictures  which  turn  out  well,"  she 
said. 

"  You  have  not  changed  your  mind,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  N-no,  but  there  will  be  so  few.  I  was  rather 
lazy  during  the  first  two  days." 

"  You  can  trust  me  to  fill  in  the  gaps  with  exceed- 
ing accuracy." 

"  Oh,  don't  let  us  talk  as  if  we  would  never  meet 
again.  The  world  is  small — to  motorists." 

"  I  had  the  exact  contrary  in  mind,"  he  said 
quickly.  "  If  we  parted  to-day,  and  did  not  meet 
for  twenty  years,  each  of  us  might  well  be  doubtful 
as  to  what  did  or  did  not  happen  last  Friday  or 
Saturday.  But  association  strengthens  and  confirms 
such  recollections.  I  often  think  that  memories  held 
in  common  are  the  most  solid  foundation  of  friend- 
ship." 

263 


Cynthia's  Chaufeur 

"  You  don't  believe,  then,  in  love  at  first  sight,"  she 
ventured. 

"  Let  me  be  dumb  rather  than  so  misunderstood !  " 
he  cried. 

Cynthia  breathed  deeply.  She  was  profoundly 
conscious  of  an  escape  wholly  due  to  his  forbearance, 
but  she  was  terrified  at  finding  that  her  thankfulness 
was  of  a  very  doubtful  quality.  She  knew  now  that 
this  man  loved  her,  and  the  knowledge  was  at  once 
an  ecstasy  and  a  torture.  And  how  wise  he  was, 
how  considerate,  how  worthy  of  the  treasure  that  her 
overflowing  heart  would  heap  on  him !  But  it  could 
not  be.  She  dared  not  face  her  father,  her  relatives, 
her  host  of  friends,  and  confess  with  proud  humility 
that  she  had  found  her  mate  in  some  unknown  Eng- 
lishman, the  hired  driver  of  a  motor-car.  At  any 
rate,  in  that  moment  of  exquisite  agony,  Cynthia 
did  not  know  what  she  might  dare  when  put  to  the 
test.  Her  lips  parted,  her  eyes  glistened,  and  she 
turned  aside  to  gaze  blindly  at  the  distant  Welsh 
hills. 

"  If  we  don't  hurry,"  she  said  with  the  slowness 
of  desperation,  "  we  shall  never  complete  our 
programme  by  nightfall.  .  .  .  And  we  must 
not  forget  that  Mrs.  Leland  awaits  us  at 
Chester." 

"  To-night  I  shall  realize  the  feelings  of  Charles 
the  First  when  he  witnessed  the  defeat  of  his  troops 
at  the  battle  of  Rowton  Moor,"  was  Medenham's 
savage  growl. 

264. 


Masques,,  Ancient  and  Modern 

Hardly  aware  of  her  own  words,  Cynthia  mur- 
mured : 

"  Though  defeated,  the  poor  king  did  not  lose 
hope." 

"  No :  the  Stuarts'  only  virtue  was  their  stubborn- 
ness. By  the  way,  I  am  a  Stuart." 

"  Evidently  that  is  why  you  are  flying  from  Ches- 
ter," she  contrived  to  say  with  a  little  laugh. 

"  I  pin  my  faith  in  the  Restoration,"  he  retorted. 
"  It  is  a  fair  parallel.  It  took  Charles  twenty  years 
to  reach  Rowton  Moor,  but  the  modern  clock  moves 
quicker,  for  I  am  there  in  five  days." 

"  I  am  no  good  at  dates "  she  began,  but  Mrs. 

Devar  discovered  them  from  afar,  and  fluttered  a 
telegram.  They  hastened  to  her — Cynthia  flushed 
at  the  thought  that  she  might  be  recalled  to  London 
— which  she  would  not  regret,  since  a  visit  to  the 
dentist  to-day  is  better  than  the  toothache  all  next 
week — and  Medenham  steeled  himself  against  im- 
minent unmasking. 

But  Mrs.  Devar*s  main  business  in  life  was  self. 

"  I  have  just  heard  from  James,"  she  cooed.  "  He 
promised  to  run  up  to  Shrewsbury  to-day,  but  finds 
he  cannot  spare  the  time.  Count  Edouard  told  him 
that  Mr.  Vanrenen  was  in  town,  and  he  regrets  he 
was  unable  to  call  before  he  left." 

"  Before  who  left  ?  "  demanded  Cynthia. 

"  Your  father,  dear." 

"Left  for  where?" 

Mrs.  Devar  screwed  her  eyes  at  the  pink  slip. 

265 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

"  That  is  all  it  says.      Just  « left '?  " 

"  That  doesn't  sound  right,  anyhow,"  laughed 
Medenham. 

"  Oh,  but  this  is  too  ridiculous !  "  and  Cynthia's 
foot  stamped.  "  I  have  never  before  known  my 
father  behave  in  this  Jack-in-the-Box  fashion." 

"  Mrs.  Leland  will  clear  up  the  whole  mystery," 
volunteered  Medenham. 

"  But  what  mystery  is  there?  "  purred  Mrs.  Devar, 
blinking  first  at  one,  then  at  the  other.  She  bent 
over  the  telegram  again. 

"  James  sent  this  message  from  the  West  Strand 
at  9.30  a.m.  Perhaps  he  had  just  heard  of  Mr. 
Vanrenen's  departure,"  she  said. 

Judging  from  Cynthia's  occasional  references  to  her 
father's  character  and  associates,  Medenham  fancied 
it  was  much  more  likely  that  the  American  railway 
magnate  had  merely  refused  to  meet  Captain  Devar. 
But  therein  he  was  mistaken. 

At  the  very  hour  that  the  three  were  settling  them- 
selves in  the  Mercury  before  taking  the  road  to 
Leominster,  Mr.  Vanrenen,  driven  by  a  perturbed 
but  silent  Simmonds,  stopped  the  car  on  the  outskirts 
of  Whitchurch  and  asked  an  intelligent-looking  boy 
if  he  had  noticed  the  passing  of  an  automobile  num- 
bered X  L  4000. 

"  I  s'pose  you  mean  a  motor-car,  sir  ?  "  said  the 
boy. 

Vanrenen,  a  tall  man,  thin,  close-lipped,  with  high 
cheekbones,  and  long  nose,  a  man  utterly  unlike  his 

266 


Masques,  Ancient  and  Modern 

daughter  save  for  the  wide-open,  all-seeing  eyes, 
smiled  at  the  naive  correction;  with  that  smile  some 
enchanter's  wand  mirrored  Cynthia  in  her  father's 
face.  Even  Simmonds,  who  had  seen  no  semblance 
of  a  smile  in  the  features  of  the  chilly,  skeptical 
man  by  whom  he  was  dragged  out  of  bed  at  an  un- 
earthly hour  in  the  morning  at  Bristol,  witnessed  the 
alchemy,  and  marveled. 

"  Yes,  sir,  rather,"  continued  the  boy,  brimming 
over  with  enthusiasm.  "  The  gentleman  went  along 
the  Hereford  Road,  he  did,  yesterday  mornin'.  He 
kem  back,  too,  wiv  a  shuffer,  an'  he's  a-stayin'  at 
the  Symon's  Yat  Hotel." 

Peter  Vanrenen  frowned,  and  Cynthia  vanished, 
to  be  replaced  by  the  Wall  Street  speculator  who 
had  "  made  a  pyramid  in  Milwaukees."  Whence, 
then,  had  Cynthia  telephoned?  Of  course,  his  alert 
mind  hit  on  a  missed  mail  as  the  genesis  of  the  run 
to  Hereford  early  on  Sunday,  but  he  asked  himself 
why  he  had  not  been  told  of  a  changed  address.  He 
could  not  guess  that  Cynthia  would  have  mentioned 
the  fact  had  she  spoken  to  him,  but  in  the  flurry  and 
surprise  of  hearing  that  he  was  not  in  the  hotel  she 
forgot  to  tell  the  attendant  who  took  her  message 
that  she  was  at  Symon's  Yat  and  not  at  Hereford. 

"  Are  you  sure  about  the  car?  "  he  said,  rendered 
somewhat  skeptical  by  the  boy's  overfullness  of 
knowledge. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Didn't  me  an'  Dick  Davies  watch  for 
it  all  chapel-time?  " 

267 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

"But  why? — for  that  car  in  particular?" 

"  The  gentleman  bust  his  tire,  an'  we  watched  him 
mendin'  it,  an'  he  set  us  a  sum,  an'  promised  us  a 
bob  each  if  we  did  it." 

"  Meanwhile  he  went  to  Hereford  and  back?  " 

"  I  s'pose  so,  sir." 

Peter  Vanrenen's  attention  was  held  by  that 
guarded  answer,  and,  being  an  American,  he  was  ever 
ready  to  absorb  information,  especially  in  matters 
appertaining  to  figures. 

"  What  was  the  sum?  "  he  said. 

To  his  very  keen  annoyance  he  found  that  he  could 
not  determine  straight  off  how  long  two  men  take 
to  mow  a  field  of  grass,  which  one  of  them  could 
cut  in  four  days  and  the  other  in  three.  In- 
deed, he  almost  caught  himself  saying  "  three 
days  and  a  half,"  but  stopped  short  of  that 
folly. 

"  About  a  day  and  three-quarters,"  he  essayed, 
before  the  silence  grew  irksome. 

"  Wrong,  sir.  Is  it  worth  a  bob  ?  "  and  the  urchin 
grinned  delightfully. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

"  A  day  an'  five-sevenths,  'coss  one  man  can  do 
one  quarter  in  a  day,  and  t'other  man  a  third,  which 
is  seven-twelfths,  leavin'  five-twelfths  to  be  done  next 
day." 

Though  the  millionaire  financier  was  nettled,  he 
did  not  show  it,  but  paid  the  shilling  with  apparent 
good  grace. 

268 


Masques,  Ancient  and  Modern 

"  Did  you  find  that  out — or  was  it  Dick  Da  vies  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Both  of  us,  sir,  wiv'  a  foot  rule." 

"  And  how  far  is  the  Symon's  Yat  Hotel,  measured 
by  that  rule?" 

"  Half  a  mile,  sir,  down  that  there  lane." 

While  traveling  slowly  in  the  narrow  way,  Sim- 
monds  turned  his  head. 

"  It  doesn't  follow  that  because  the  boy  saw  Vis- 
count Medenham  yesterday  his  lordship  is  here  now, 
sir,"  he  said. 

"  You  just  do  as  you  are  told  and  pass  no  re- 
marks," snapped  Vanrenen. 

If  the  head  of  the  house  of  Vanrenen  were  judged 
merely  by  that  somewhat  unworthy  retort  he  would 
not  be  judged  fairly.  He  was  tired  physically,  wor- 
ried mentally;  he  had  been  brought  from  Paris  at 
an  awkward  moment;  he  was  naturally  devoted  to 
his  daughter;  he  believed  that  Medenham  was  an 
unmitigated  scamp  and  Simmonds  his  tool;  and  his 
failure  to  solve  Medenham's  arithmetical  problem  still 
rankled.  These  considerations,  among  others,  may 
be  pleaded  in  his  behalf. 

But,  if  Simmonds,  who  had  stood  on  Spion  Kop, 
refused  to  be  browbeaten  by  a  British  earl,  he  cer- 
tainly would  not  grovel  before  an  American  plutocrat. 
He  had  endured  a  good  deal  since  five  o'clock  that 
morning.  He  told  his  tale  honestly  and  fully;  he 
even  sympathized  with  a  father's  distress,  though 
assured  in  his  own  mind  that  it  was  wholly  unwar- 

269 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

ranted;  he  was  genuinely  sorry  en  hearing  that  Mr. 
Vanrenen  had  been  searching  the  many  hotels  of 
Bristol  for  two  hours  before  he  came  to  the  right 
one.  But  to  be  treated  like  a  serf? — no,  not  if  Sim- 
monds  knew  it! 

The  car  stopped  with  a  jerk.  Out  leaped  the 
driver. 

"  Now  you  can  walk  to  the  hotel,"  he  said,  though 
he  distinguished  the  hotel  by  an  utterly  inappro- 
priate adjective. 

The  more  sudden  the  crisis  the  more  prepared  wa& 
Vanrenen — that  was  his  noted  characteristic,  whether 
dealing  with  men  or  money. 

"  What  has  bitten  you?  "  he  demanded  calmly. 

"  You  must  find  somebody  else  to  do  your  de- 
tective work,  that  is  all,"  came  the  stolid  answer. 

"  Don't  be  a  mule." 

"  I'm  not  a  mule.  You're  makin'  a  d — d  row 
about  nothing.  Viscount  Medenham  is  a  gentle- 
man to  his  finger  tips,  and  if  you  were  one  you'd 
know  that  he  wouldn't  hurt  a  hair  of  Miss  Van- 
renen's  head,  or  any  lady's,  for  that  matter." 

"  Where  my  daughter  is  concerned  I  am  not  a 
gentleman,  or  a  viscount,  or  a  person  who  makes 
'd — d  rows.  I  am  just  a  father — a  plain,  simple 
father — who  thinks  more  of  his  girl  than  of  any 
other  object  in  this  wide  world.  If  I  have  hurt  your 
feelings  I  am  sorry.  If  I  am  altogether  mistaken 
I'll  apologize  and  pay.  I'm  paying  now.  This  trip 
will  probably  cost  me  fifty  thousand  dollars  that  I 


Masques,  Ancient  and  Modern 

would  have  scooped  in  were  I  in  Paris  to-morrow. 
Your  game  is  to  attend  to  the  benzine  buzz  part  of 
the  contract  and  leave  the  rest  to  me.  Shove  ahead, 
and  step  lively !  " 

To  his  lasting  credit,  Simmonds  obeyed:  but  the 
row  had  cleared  the  air;  Vanrenen  liked  the  man, 
and  felt  now  that  his  original  estimate  of  his  worth 
was  justified. 

At  the  hotel,  of  course,  he  had  much  more  to  learn 
than  he  expected.  Oddly  enough,  the  praises  show- 
ered on  "  Fitzroy  "  confirmed  him  in  the  opinion  that 
Cynthia  was  the  victim  of  a  clever  knave,  be  he  titled 
aristocrat  or  mere  adventurer.  For  the  first  time, 
too,  he  began  to  suspect  Mrs.  Devar  of  complicity  in 
the  plot ! 

A  nice  kind  of  chaperon  she  must  be  to  let  his 
girl  go  boating  with  a  chauffeur  on  the  Wye!  And 
her  Sunday's  illness  was  a  palpable  pretense — an  ar- 
ranged affair,  no  doubt,  to  permit  more  boating  and 
dallying  in  this  fairyland  of  forest  and  river.  What 
thanks  he  owed  to  that  Frenchman,  Marigny! 

Indeed,  it  was  easy  to  hoodwink  this  hard-headed 
man  in  aught  that  affected  Cynthia.  Count  Edouard 
displayed  a  good  deal  of  tact  when  he  called  at  the 
Savoy  Hotel  late  the  previous  night,  but  his  obvious 
relief  at  finding  Vanrenen  in  London  had  induced  the 
latter  to  depart  for  Bristol  by  a  midnight  train  rather 
than  trust  wholly  to  Mrs.  Leland's  leisured  strategy. 

He  did  not  go  straight  to  Hereford  for  the  best 
of  reasons.  He  had  told  Cynthia  of  Mrs.  Leland's 

271 


Cynthia's  Chaufeur 

coming,  and  had  heard  of  if  not  from  her  in  response 
to  his  letter.  If  he  rushed  off  now  to  intercept  the 
motorists  at  Hereford  he  would  defeat  the  very  pur- 
pose he  had  in  view,  which  was  to  interpose  an  effec- 
tual shield  between  the  scoundrelly  lordling  and  his 
prey,  while  avoiding  any  risk  of  hurting  his  daugh- 
ter's feelings.  Moreover,  he  was  eminently  a  just 
man.  Hearing  from  Marigny  that  Simmonds,  the 
original  cause  of  all  the  trouble,  was  skulking  at 
Bristol,  to  Bristol  he  went.  From  that  starting- 
point,  with  his  knowledge  of  Cynthia's  probable  route, 
he  could  surely  pick  up  traces  of  the  predatory  car  at 
most  towns  through  which  it  passed.  Moreover,  he 
could  choose  his  own  time  for  joining  the  party  in 
front,  which  by  this  time  he  was  fully  resolved  on, 
either  at  Chester  or  farther  north. 

Transcending  these  minor  features  of  a  disturbing 
affair  was  his  self-confessed  fear  of  Cynthia.  In 
the  unfathomed  deeps  of  a  father's  love  for  such  a 
daughter  there  is  ever  an  element  of  fear.  Not  for 
all  his  wealth  would  Vanrenen  cast  a  shadow  on  the 
unsullied  intimacy  of  their  affection.  Therefore,  he 
would  be  wary,  circumspect,  ready  to  accept  as  most 
credible  theories  which  he  would  scout  in  any  other 
conditions,  quick  to  discern  the  truth,  slow  to  point 
out  wherein  an  inexperienced  girl  had  erred,  but 
merciless  to  the  fortune-hunter  who  had  so  jeopar- 
dized Cynthia's  happiness  and  his  own. 

Hence,  his  appearance  at  the  Symon's  Yat  Hotel 
seemed  to  have  no  more  serious  import  than  a  father's 

272 


Masques,  Ancient  and  Modern 

wish  to  delight  his  daughter  by  an  unexpected  par- 
ticipation in  her  holiday.  No  secret  had  been  made 
as  to  the  Mercury's  halting-place  that  day.  Cyn- 
thia herself  had  written  the  address  in  the  hotel 
register,  adding  a  request  that  letters,  if  any,  were 
to  be  forwarded  to  Windermere. 

By  chance,  the  smiling  landlady's  curiosity  as  to 
"  Fitzroy  "  raised  a  new  specter. 

"  He  must  be  a  gentleman,"  she  said,  "  because  he 
belongs  to  the  Thames  Rowing  Club;  he  also  spoke 
and  acted  like  one.  Why  did  he  employ  an  assistant 
chauffeur?  That  is  most  unusual." 

Vanrenen  could  only  explain  that  arrangements  for 
the  tour  were  made  during  his  absence  in  France,  so 
he  was  not  fully  posted  as  to  details. 

"  Oh,  they  did  not  intend  to  remain  here  on  Satur- 
day, but  Miss  Vanrenen  liked  the  place,  and  seemed 

to  be  rather  taken  with  the  hotel "  whereat  the 

millionaire  nodded  his  complete  agreement — "  so  Mr. 
Fitzroy  telegraphed  for  a  man  named  Dale  to  come 
to  Hereford.  There  was  some  misunderstanding, 
however,  and  Dale  only  arrived  yesterday  in  the  car. 
He  left  by  an  early  train  this  morning,  after  doing 
the  garage  work." 

Simmonds,  candor  itself  about  Medenham,  had  said 
no  word  of  the  Earl  of  Fairholme  or  of  Dale.  Ma- 
rigny,  of  course,  was  silent  as  to  the  Earl,  since  it 
might  have  ruined  his  last  faint  hope  of  success  had 
the  two  perplexed  fathers  met;  Simmonds's  recent 
outburst  opposed  an  effectual  bar  to  farther  ques- 

273 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

tioning;  so  Vanrenen  was  free  to  deduce  all  sorts  of 
possibilities  from  the  existence  of  yet  another  vil- 
lainous chauffeur. 

Unhappily,  he  availed  himself  of  the  opportunity 
to  the  full.  The  fair  countryside  and  the  good  food 
of  the  March  counties  made  little  or  no  appeal  to 
him  thenceforth.  He  pined  to  be  in  Chester,  yet 
restrained  the  impulse  that  urged  a  frenzied  scurry 
to  the  Banks  of  the  Dee,  for  he  was  adamant  in  his 
resolve  not  to  seem  to  have  pursued  Cynthia,  but 
rather  to  have  joined  her  as  the  outcome  of  a  mere 
whim  after  she  had  met  Mrs.  Leland. 

The  Mercury  arrived  at  Ludlow  long  before  Van- 
renen crossed  the  Wye  Bridge  at  Hereford.  M^den- 
ham  stopped  the  car  at  "  The  Feathers,"  that  famous 
magpie  among  British  Inns,  where  Cynthia  admired 
and  photographed  some  excellent  woodcarving,  and 
saw  an  iron-studded  front  door  which  has  shut  out 
revellers  and  the  night  on  each  alternate  round  of 
the  clock  since  1609,  if  not  longer. 

If  they  hurried  over  luncheon  they  were  content 
to  dawdle  in  the  picturesque  streets,  and  Cynthia 
was  reluctant  to  leave  the  fine  old  castle,  in  which 
Milton's  "  Masque  of  Comus "  was  first  played  on 
Michaelmas  night  of  1634.  At  first,  she  yielded  only 
to  the  flood  of  memories  pent  in  every  American 
brain  when  the  citizen  of  the  New  World  stands  in 
one  of  these  treasure-houses  of  history  and  feels  the 
passing  of  its  dim  pageants ;  when  they  stood  to- 
gether in  the  ruined  banqueting  hall,  Medenham  gave 

274 


Masques,  Ancient  and  Modern 

play  to  his  imagination,  and  strove  to  reconstruct  a 
scene  once  spread  before  the  bright  eyes  of  a  maiden 
long  since  dead. 

"  You  will  please  regard  yourself,"  he  said,  "  as 
the  Lady  Alice  Egerton,  daughter  of  the  Earl  of 
Bridgwater,  Lord  President  of  the  Marches  of  Wales, 
who,  with  her  two  brothers,  was  benighted  in  the 
Forest  of  Heywood  while  riding  to  Ludlow  to  witness 
her  father's  installation  in  his  high  office.  Milton 
was  told  of  her  adventures  by  Henry  Lawes,  the 
musician,  and  he  wrote  the  *  Masque  of  Comus  '  to 
delight  her  and  her  friends.  Have  you  read 
*  Comus'?" 

"  No,"  said  Cynthia,  almost  timidly,  for  she  was 
beginning  to  fear  this  masterful  man  whose  enthusi- 
asm caught  her  to  his  very  soul  at  such  moments. 

"  Ah,  but  you  shall.  It  ranks  high  among  the 
miracles  of  English  poetry  wrought  by  Milton. 
Many  a  mile  from  Ludlow  have  I  called  to  mind  one 
of  its  incomparable  passages: 

A  thousand  phantasies 
Begin  to  throng  into  my  memory — 
Of  calling  shapes,  and  beckoning  shadows  dire, 
And  airy  tongues  that  syllable  men's  names 
On  sands,  and  shores,  and  desert  wildernesses. 

And  now  you,  the  heroine  of  the  masque,  must  try 
to  imagine  that  you  are  lost  in  a  wild  wood  repre- 
sented by  a  carpet  spread  here,  in  the  center  of  the 
hall.  Seated  there  on  a  dai's,  is  your  father  the 
Earl,  surrounded  by  his  officers  and  retainers.  Near 

275 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

you  are  your  brothers,  Lord  Brackley  and  Thomas 
Egerton,  so  blinded  by  sprites  that  they  cannot  see 
you,  though  keen  enough  to  note  the  bright  eyes  and 
flushed  cheeks  of  other  ladies  of  high  degree  bidden 
to  Ludlow  from  neighboring  shires  for  the  merry- 
making. And  mark  you,  this  is  no  rude  gathering 
of  unlettered  squires  and  rough  men-at-arms.  How 
is  it  possible  that  an  uncultured  throng  should  listen 
rapturously  to  the  noblest  performance  of  the  kind 
that  exists  in  any  language,  wherein  each  speech  is 
a  majestic  soliloquy,  eloquent,  sublime,  with  an  un- 
cloying  word-music  acclaimed  by  three  centuries?  " 

The  sheer  wonder  in  Cynthia's  face  warned  him 
that  this  brief  excursion  into  the  pages  of  Macaulay 
had  better  cease,  so  he  focused  his  thoughts  on  the 
actual  representation  of  the  masque  in  which  he  had 
taken  part  ten  years  ago  at  Fairholme. 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  concede  that  the  lords  and 
ladies,  the  civic  dignitaries  and  their  wives,  for  whose 
amusement  Milton  spread  the  pinions  of  his  genius, 
were  far  better  equipped  to  understand  his  lyric 
flights  than  any  similar  assemblage  that  could  be 
collected  haphazard  in  some  modern  castle.  They 
did  not  pretend — they  knew.  Even  you,  Lady  Alice, 
could  frame  a  neat  verse  in  Latin  and  cap  some 
pleasant  jest  with  a  line  from  Homer.  When  Milton 
dreamed  aloud  of  bathing  in  the  Elysian  dew  of 
the  rainbow,  of  inhaling  the  scents  of  nard  and  cassia, 
4  which  the  musky  wings  of  the  Zepyhr  scatter 
through  the  cedared  alleys  of  the  Hesperides,'  they 

276 


Masques.,  Ancient  and  Modern 

followed  each  turn  and  swoop  of  his  fancy  with  an 
active  sense  of  its  truth  and  beauty.  And  what  a 
brilliant  company!  How  the  red  flare  of  torch  and 
cresset  would  flicker  on  the  sheen  of  silk,  the  luster 
of  velvet,  the  polished  brightness  of  morion  and 
spear.  I  think  I  can  see  those  gallant  gentlemen 
and  fine  ladies  grouped  round  the  players  who  told 
of  the  strange  pranks  played  by  the  God  of  Mirth. 
Perhaps  that  same  fair  Alice,  who  supplied  the  mo- 
tive of  the  masque  as  well  as  its  leading  lady,  may 
be  linked  with  you  by  stronger  ties  than  those  of 
mere  feminine  grace " 

Cynthia  did  not  blush:  she  grew  white,  but  shook 
her  head. 

"  You  cannot  tell,"  he  said.  "  '  Comus  *  was 
played  in  Ludlow  only  fourteen  years  after  the  land- 
ing of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  in  New  England,  and 
I  would  remind  you  that  we  stocked  the  new  nation 
in  the  west  with  some  of  the  bluest  blood  in  Britain. 
Even  in  this  hall  there  were  Puritans  whose  ascetic 
tastes  disapproved  of  Milton's  imageries,  of  children 
play-acting,  of  the  brave  show  made  by  the  gen- 
try " 

"  My  mother's  people  lived  in  Pennsylvania  for 
generations,"  she  broke  in  with  a  strange  wistfulness. 

"  I  knew  it,"  he  cried  in  triumph.  "  Tell  me  the 
names  of  the  first-nighters  at  the  Milton  Theater, 
Ludlow,  on  that  autumn  evening  in  1634,  and  war- 
rant me  to  find  you  an  authentic  ancestor." 

Cynthia  bent  a  puzzled  brow  at  him. 

277 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

"  After  this,  I  shall  apply  myself  to  '  Comus  '  with 
added  comprehension,"  she  said.  "  But — you  take 
my  breath  away;  have  you,  then,  delved  so  deep  in 
the  mine  of  English  history  that  you  can  people 
'most  every  ruined  pile  in  Britain  with  the  men  and 
women  of  the  dead  years  ?  " 

He  laughed,  and  colored  a  little,  with  true  British 
confusion  at  having  been  caught  in  an  extravagant 
mood. 

"  There  you  lay  bare  the  mummer,"  he  said. 
"  What  clever  fellows  actors  would  be  if  they  grasped 
the  underlying  realities  of  all  the  fine  words  they 
mouth !  No ;  I  quote  '  Comus  '  only  because  on  one 
half-forgotten  occasion  I  played  in  it." 

"Where?" 

The  prompt  question  took  him  unaware. 

"  At  Fairholme,"  he  said. 

"  Is  that  another  castle  ?  " 

"  No — merely  a  Georgian  residence." 

"  I  seem  to  have  heard  of  it — somewhere — I  can't 
remember." 

He  remembered  quite  well — was  not  Mrs.  Devar, 
student  of  Burke,  sitting  in  the  car  at  the  castle 
gate  ? 

"  Oh,  we  must  hurry,"  he  said  shamefacedly.  "  I 
have  kept  you  here  too  long,  for  we  have  yet  to 

trace  huge  forests  and  unharbour'd  heaths, 
Infamous  hills  and  sandy  perilous  wilds, 

before  we  see  Chester — and  Mrs.  Leland." 

278 


Masques,  Ancient  and  Modern 

With  that  the  bubble  was  pricked,  and  staid  Lud- 
low  became  a  busy  market-town  again,  its  streets 
blocked  by  the  barrows  of  hucksters  and  farmers' 
carts,  its  converging  roads  thronged  with  cattle.  At 
Shrewsbury  Medenham  was  vouchsafed  a  gleam  of 
frosty  humor  by  Mrs.  Devar's  anxiety  lest  her  son 
might  have  obeyed  her  earlier  injunctions,  and  kept 
tryst  at  "  The  Raven  "  after  all.  That  trivial  di- 
version soon  passed.  He  hoped  that  Cynthia  would 
share  the  front  seat  with  him  in  the  final  run  to 
Chester;  but  she  remained  tucked  up  in  the  tonneau, 
and  the  dread  that  kept  her  there  was  bitter-sweet 
to  him,  since  it  betrayed  her  increasing  lack  of  con- 
fidence in  herself. 

The  rendezvous  was  at  the  Grosvenor  Hotel,  and 
Medenham  had  made  up  his  mind  how  to  act  long 
before  the  red  towers  of  Chester  Cathedral  glowed 
above  the  city's  haze  in  the  fire  of  a  magnificent  sun- 
set. Dale  was  waiting  on  the  pavement  when  the 
Mercury  drew  up  at  the  galleried  entrance  to  the 
hotel. 

Medenham  leaped  down. 

"  Good-by,  Miss  Vanrenen,"  he  said,  holding  out 
his  hand.  "  I  can  catch  an  early  train  to  town 
by  hurrying  away  at  once.  This  is  Dale,  who  will 
take  my  place.  He  is  thoroughly  reliable,  and  an 
even  more  careful  driver  than  I  am." 

"Are  you  really  going — like  that?"  faltered 
Cynthia,  and  her  face  blanched  at  the  suddenness 
of  it. 

279 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

"  Yes.  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you 
in  London  when  you  return." 

Their  hands  met  in  a  firm  clasp.  Mrs.  Devar, 
too  flustered  at  first  to  gasp  more  than  an  "  Oh !  " 
of  astonishment,  leaned  forward  and  shook  his  hand 
with  marked  cordiality. 

"  You  must  tell  Dale  to  take  great  care  of  us," 
she  said,  knowingly. 

"  I  think  he  realizes  the  exceeding  trust  I  repose 
in  him,"  he  said,  but  the  accompanying  smile  was 
meant  for  Cynthia,  and  she  read  into  it  a  farewell 
that  presaged  many  things. 

He  disappeared  without  another  word.  When  a 
slim,  elegantly-gowned  lady  had  hastened  to  the  door 
from  the  drawing-room,  whence  she  was  summoned 
by  a  page,  she  found  two  dust-covered  figures  in 
the  act  of  alighting  from  a  well-appointed  car. 
Her  next  glance  was  at  the  solemn  jowl  of 
the  chauffeur. 

"  Cynthia,  my  darling  girl !  "  she  cried,  with  arms 
thrown  wide. 

There  could  be  no  doubting  the  heartiness  of  the 
greeting,  and  in  that  motherly  embrace  Cynthia  felt 
a  repose,  a  security,  that  she  had  been  willfully  skep- 
tical of  during  many  weary  hours.  But  polite  usage 
called  for  an  introduction,  and  Mrs.  Leland  and  Mrs. 
Devar  eyed  each  other  warily,  with  the  smiles  of 
convention. 

Mrs.  Leland  glanced  at  Dale. 

"  And  who  is  this  ?  "  she  asked,  seizing  the  oppor- 

280 


Masques,  Ancient  and  Modern 

tunity  to  settle  a  point  that  was  perplexing  her 
strangely. 

"  Our  chauffeur,"  said  Cynthia,  and  a  glint  of 
fun  showed  through  the  wanness  of  her  cheeks. 

"  But  not— not " 

Even  smooth-tongued  Mrs.  Leland  was  at  a 
loss. 

"  Not  Fitzroy,  who  left  us  a  minute  ago.  This 
man's  name  is  Dale.  One  wonders,  though,  how  you 
knew — why  you  doubted,"  cried  Cynthia  in  sharp 
discernment. 

"  Pray  why  did  Fitzroy  leave  you  a  minute 
ago  ? "  was  all  that  the  other  woman  could  find 
to  say. 

"  He  had  to  return  to  London.  But,  there — it 
is  I  who  ought  to  ask  questions.  Let  us  go  inside. 
I  want  to  get  some  of  the  grit  out  of  my  eyes  and 
hair;  then  I  shall  become  an  absolute  mark  of  in- 
terrogation— so  I  warn  you.  Of  course,  I  am  de- 
lighted to  see  you ;  but  queer  things  have  happened, 
and  I  am  pining  to  have  them  cleared  up.  When 
did  you  see  father  last?  Is  he  still  in  London?" 

Mrs.  Leland  answered,  with  freer  speech  now,  but 
in  her  heart  she  was  saddened  by  Medenham's  du- 
plicity. Six  months  earlier  he  and  the  Earl  had 
dined  at  the  villa  she  was  occupying  at  San  Remo 
for  the  winter.  She  then  took  a  great  liking  to 
him  on  account  of  his  shy  and  reticent  but  singularly 
pleasing  manners.  She  was  prepared  to  laugh  at 
the  present  escapade  when  she  had  discussed  it  with 

Ml 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

him  that  night.  Now  he  had  fled,  doubtless  through 
fear.  That  was  bad.  That  looked  ugly  and  mean. 
Most  certainly  Peter  Vanrenen  had  acted  rightly  in 
bringing  her  post-haste  from  Trouville.  She  must 
use  all  her  skill  if  mischief  were  to  be  avoided. 


999 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WHEREIN  WRATH  BEGUILES  GOOD  JUDGMENT 

"  GOOD-MORNIN',  George." 

"  Good-morning,  dad." 

"Enjoy  your  run  to  Hereford?  " 

"  Immensely.      Did  you?  " 

"  It  was  not  so  bad.  Rather  tiresome,  you  know, 
travelin'  alone,  but  on  the  return  journey  I  fell  in 
with  a  decent  sort  of  Frenchman  who  helped  to  pass 
the  time." 

"  Monsieur  Marigny,  in  fact?  " 

"  Ah,  you  know  him,  of  course.      I  had  forgotten." 

"  I  have  met  him.  He  is  not  the  kind  of  person 
I  care  to  know." 

The  Earl  selected  an  egg,  tapped  it,  and  asked 
his  son  what  he  thought  of  the  crops — did  they  want 
rain?  The  two  were  breakfasting  alone — at  the 
moment  there  was  not  even  a  man-servant  in  the 
room — but  Lord  Fairholme  had  long  ago  established 
the  golden  rule  that  controversial  topics  were  taboo 
during  meals.  Medenham  laughed  outright  at  the 
sudden  change  of  topic.  He  remembered  that  Dale 
was  sent  to  bed  in  the  Green  Dragon  Hotel  at  eight 

283 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

o'clock,  and  he  had  not  the  least  doubt  that  his 
father's  ukase  was  really  a  dodge  to  secure  an  un- 
disturbed dinner.  But  he  was  under  no  delusions 
because  of  this  placid  meeting  in  the  breakfast-room. 
There  was  thunder  in  the  air.  Tomkinson  had 
warned  him  of  it  overnight. 

"  There's  bin  ructions  while  you  were  away,  my 
lord,"  the  butler  had  whispered,  waylaying  him  in 
the  hall  just  before  midnight.  "  Lady  St.  Maur  has 
upset  the  Earl  somethink  dreadful " ;  and  Medenham 
had  growled  in  reply :  "  Her  ladyship  will  lunch  here 
at  one  o'clock  to-morrow,  Tomkinson.  Have  an 
ambulance  ready  at  two,  for  she  will  be  in  little 
pieces  before  I  have  done  with  her.  The  mangling 
will  be  somethink  orful." 

"  But  what  has  become  of  Dale,  my  lord?  "  went 
on  Tomkinson  in  a  hushed  voice. 

"Dale?  He  is  all  right.  Why?  Is  he  in  the 
soup,  too  ?  " 

"  No,  my  lord.  I've  heard  nothink  of  that,  but 
he  sent  me  a  wire  from  Bristol " 

"  A  telegram — about  what  ?  " 

"  About  a  horse." 

"  Oh,  the  deuce  take  you  and  your  horses.  By 
the  way,  that  reminds  me — you  gave  me  a  rotten 
tip  for  the  Derby." 

"  It  was  a  false  run  race,  my  lord.  The  favorite 
was  swep'  off  his  feet  at  Tattenham  Corner,  and 
couldn't  get  into  his  stride  again  till  the  field  was 
opposite  Langland's  Stands.  After  that " 

284, 


Wherein  Wrath  Beguiles  Good  Judgment 

"  After  that  I'm  going  to  bed.  But  I  forgive  you, 
Tomkinson.  You  put  up  a  ripping  good  lunch. 
You're  a  far  better  butler  than  a  tipster." 

This  brief  conversation  had  illumined  at  least  one 
dubious  page  in  the  records  of  the  past  few  days. 
Medenham  realized  now  that  his  aunt  had  emptied 
the  vials  of  her  wrath  on  Mrs.  Devar,  but,  that  lady 
being  absent  in  body,  the  Earl  had  received  the  full 
dose.  It  indicated  somewhat  the  line  he  should  fol- 
low when,  breakfast  ended,  his  father  suggested  that 
they  should  smoke  a  cigarette  in  the  library. 

Once  there,  and  the  door  closed,  the  Earl  estab- 
lished himself  on  the  hearth-rug  with  his  back  to 
the  fireplace.  It  was  high  summer,  and  the  lazy 
London  heat  crept  in  through  the  open  windows ; 
but  the  hearth-rug  constituted  a  throne,  a  seat  of 
Solomon;  had  his  lordship  stood  anywhere  else  he 
would  have  felt  lacking  in  authority. 

"  Now,  George,  my  boy,  tell  me  all  about  it,"  he 
said,  with  a  genially  paternal  air  that  lent  itself  ad- 
mirably to  the  discussion  of  a  youngster's  trans- 
gressions. 

Medenham  had  a  sense  of  humor  denied  to  his  well- 
meaning  sire.  He  recalled  the  last  time  he  had  heard 
those  words.  He  and  another  sprig  of  nobility  had 
come  up  to  London  from  Winchester  without  leave 
in  order  to  attend  a  famous  glove  contest  between 
heavyweights,  and  there  had  been  wigs  on  the  green 
before  an  irate  head-master  would  even  deign  to  flog 
them.  That  had  happened  twelve  years  ago,  almost 

285 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

to  a  day.  Since  then  he  had  fought  through  a 
great  war,  had  circled  the  globe,  had  sought  the  wild 
places  of  earth  and  its  monsters  in  their  lairs.  He 
knew  men  and  matters  as  his  father  had  never  known 
them.  A  Prime  Minister  had  urged  him  to  adopt 
a  political  career,  and  had  virtually  promised  him 
a  colonial  under-secretaryship  as  soon  as  he  entered 
parliament.  He  held  the  D.S.O.,  had  been  thanked 
by  the  Royal  Geographical  Society  for  a  paper  on 
Kilimanjaro,  and  cordially  invited  by  the  Foreign 
Office  to  send  in  any  further  notes  in  his  possession. 
Months  later,  he  heard  that  Sir  Somebody  Some- 
thing was  deeply  interested  in  his  comments  on  the 
activity  of  a  certain  Great  Power  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Britain's  chief  coaling-stations  in  the  Indian 
Ocean. 

The  absurdity  of  a  family  conclave  in  which  he 
should  again  be  treated  as  a  small  boy,  and  admon- 
ished to  apologize  and  be  flogged,  while  it  brought 
a  smile  to  his  lips,  banished  any  notion  of  angry 
remonstrance. 

"  By  '  all  about  it '  I  suppose  you  mean  that  you 
wish  to  hear  what  I  have  been  doing  since  last 
Wednesday,"  he  said  pleasantly.  "  Well,  dad,  I 
have  obeyed  your  orders.  You  asked  me  to  find  a  wife 
worthy  to  reign  at  Fairholme.  I  have  succeeded." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  have  married  her !  " 
shouted  the  Earl,  in  a  purple  upheaval  of  rage  whose 
lightning-like  abruptness  was  not  its  least  amazing 
feature.  Certainly  Medenham  was  taken  aback  by 

286 


Wherein  Wrath  Beguiles  Good  Judgment 

it.  Indeed,  he  was  almost  alarmed,  though  he  had 
no  knowledge  of  apoplexy  in  the  family. 

'*  I  have  not  even  asked  the  lady  yet,"  he  said 
quietly.  "  I  hope — I  think — that  the  idea  will  not 
be  disagreeable  to  her;  but  a  future  Countess  of 
Fairholme  is  not  to  be  carried  by  storm  in  that 
fashion.  We  must  get  to  know  her  people " 

"  D — n  her  people !  "  broke  in  the  older  man. 
"  Have  you  taken  leave  of  your  wits,  George,  to 
stand  there  and  talk  such  infernal  nonsense?  " 

"  Steady,  dad,  steady !  "  and  the  quiet  voice  grew 
still  more  calm,  though  the  forehead  wrinkled  a  little, 
and  there  was  an  ominous  tightening  of  the  lips. 
"  You  must  take  that  back.  Peter  Vanrenen  is  quite 
as  great  a  man  in  the  United  States  as  you  are 
in  England — may  I  even  say,  without  disrespect,  a 
man  who  has  won  a  more  commanding  position? — 
and  his  daughter,  Cynthia,  is  better  fitted  to  adorn 
a  coronet  than  a  great  many  women  now  entitled  to 
wear  one." 

The  Earl  laughed,  with  an  immoderate  display  of 
an  amusement  he  was  far  from  feeling. 

"  Are  these  Wiggy  Devar's  credentials  ?  By  gad, 
that  shabby  little  wretch  is  flying  high  when  she  tries 
to  bag  my  son  for  her  pretty  protegee !  " 

"  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  wiser,  sir,  if  you 
allowed  me  to  tell  you  exactly  what  has  taken  place 
since  we  met  last?  " 

"What  good  purpose  will  that  serve?  I  have 
heard  the  whole  story  from  Lady  Porthcawl,  from 

287 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

Dale,  from  that  Frenchman — and  Heaven  knows  I 
have  been  well  coached  in  Mrs.  Devar's  antecedents 
by  your  Aunt  Susan.  George,  I  am  surprised  that 
a  man  of  your  sound  commonsense  should  permit 
yourself  to  be  humbugged  so  egregiously.  .  .  . 
Yes,  yes,  I  am  aware  that  an  accident  led  you  to 
take  Simmonds's  place  in  the  first  instance,  but  can't 
you  see  that  the  Devar  creature  must  have  gone  in- 
stantly on  her  bended  knees — if  she  ever  does  pray, 
which  I  doubt — and  thanked  Providence  for  the 
chance  that  enabled  her  to  dispose  of  an  earldom? 

0  .    .   At  a  pretty  stiff  price,  too,  I'll  be  bound,  if 
the  truth  were  told.      Really,  George,  notwithstand- 
ing your  very  extensive  travels  and  wide  experiences, 
you  are  nothing  but  a  kid  in  the  hands  of  a  manag- 
ing woman  of  the  Devar  variety." 

"  I  am  not  being  given  in  marriage  by  Mrs.  Devar, 

1  assure  you,"  began  Medenham,  smiling  anxiously, 
for  the  fatherly  "  tell  me  all  about  it  "  was  not  being 
borne  out  by  the  Earl's  petulance. 

"  No.  You  can  trust  me  to  take  care  of  that." 
"  But  are  you  treating  me  quite  fairly  ?  Why 
should  the  distorted  version  of  my  affairs  given  by 
Lady  Porthcawl,  a  woman  whom  Cynthia  Vanrenen 
could  not  possibly  receive  in  her  house,  and  by 
Count  Edouard  Marigny,  a  disappointed  fortune- 
hunter,  be  accepted  without  cavil,  while  my  own  story 
is  not  listened  to?  I  leave  Dale  out  of  it.  I  am 

sure  he  told  you  the  actual  truth " 

"  By  the  way,  where  is  he  now?  " 

288 


Wherein  Wrath  Beguiles  Good  Judgment 

"  Somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of  Chester,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"  Have  you  discharged  him?  " 

"  No— why  should  I?  " 

"  Because  I  wish  it." 

"  Why  in  the  world  are  you  so  unreasonable, 
dad?"  " 

"  Unreasonable !  By  gad,  I  like  that.  Have  7 
been  gallivanting  round  the  country  with  some " 

"  Stop !  You  are  going  too  far.  This  conversa- 
tion must  cease  here  and  now.  If  you  have  any 
respect  for  yourself,  though  not  for  me,  you  must 
adjourn  the  discussion  till  after  you  have  met  Miss 
Vanrenen  and  her  father." 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  the  Earl  of  Fair- 
holme  realized  his  limitations ;  he  was  actually  cowed 
for  a  few  fleeting  seconds.  But  the  arrogant  train- 
ing of  the  county  bench,  the  seignory  of  a  vast  estate, 
the  unquestioning  deference  accorded  to  his  views 
by  thousands  of  men  who  tacitly  admitted  that  what 
he  said  must  be  right  because  he  was  a  lord — these 
excellent  stays  of  self-conceit  came  to  his  help,  and  he 
snorted  indignantly : 

"  I  absolutely  refuse  to  meet  either  of  them." 

"  That  disposes  of  the  whole  difficulty  for  the 
hour,"  said  Medenham,  turning  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Wait,  George.    ...    I  insist " 

Perhaps  a  clearer  glimpse  of  a  new  and,  to  him, 
utterly  unsuspected  force  in  his  son's  character  with- 
lield  the  imperious  command  that  trembled  on  the 

289 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

Earl's  lips.  Medenham  halted.  The  two  looked 
at  each  other,  and  the  older  man  fidgeted  with  his 
collar,  which  seemed  to  have  grown  tight  for  his 
neck. 

"  Come,  come,  let  us  not  leave  a  friendly  argu- 
ment in  this  unsettled  state,"  he  said  after  an  awk- 
ward pause.  "  My  only  thought  is  for  your  inter- 
ests, you  know.  Your  lifelong  happiness  is  at  stake, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  future  of  our  house." 

"  I  recognize  those  considerations  so  fully  that 
I  am  going  now  in  order  to  shirk  even  the  semblance 
of  a  quarrel  between  us." 

"  Why  not  thresh  things  out  ?  Your  aunt  will 
be  here  in  a  couple  of  hours " 

"  You  refuse  to  hear  a  word.  You  argue  with 
a  hammer,  sir.  I  shall  send  a  note  to  Lady  St. 
Maur  telling  her  that  she  has  done  mischief  in  plenty 
without  adding  fuel  to  the  fire  by  coming  here  to- 
day— unless  you  wish  to  consult  her,  that  is  ?  " 

The  Earl,  already  afraid  of  his  sister,  was  rapidly 
learning  to  fear  his  son. 

"  Dash  it  all !  don't  tell  me  you  are  off  on  this 
d — d  motoring  trip  once  more?"  he  cried  passion- 
ately. 

Medenham  smiled,  even  in  his  anger. 

"  See  how  willfully  you  misunderstand  me,"  he  said. 
"  I  came  away  from  Miss  Vanrenen  solely  because 
matters  had  gone  far  enough  under  rather  absurd 
conditions.  She  knows  me  only  as  Fitzroy,  the 
chauffeur;  it  is  time  to  drop  masquerading.  Ro- 

290 


Wherein  Wrath  Beguiles  Good  Judgment 

mance  is  delightful  in  its  way — perhaps  there  might 
well  be  more  of  it  in  this  commonplace  world  of 
ours — but  none  of  us  can  afford  to  play  the  knight 
errant  too  long,  so  when  next  I  meet  Cynthia  it  will 
be  as  a  man  who  occupies  a  social  position  that  ren- 
ders our  marriage  at  least  possible." 

Lord  Fairholme  threw  out  his  hands  in  a  gesture 
of  sheer  bewilderment. 

"  And  do  you  honestly  believe  that  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  I  am  quite  sure  of  it.  I  may  have  to  jump  a 
very  big  fence  indeed  when  she  learns  the  harmless 
deception  I  have  practiced  on  her,  but  I  do  hope 
most  devoutly  that  she  will  look  at  the  facts  more 
calmly  than  you  have  done." 

The  Earl  took  a  turn  or  two  on  the  hearth-rug, 
from  which  wisdom  had  temporarily  taken  flight.  He 
thought  now  he  could  see  a  way  to  avoid  open  rupture, 
and  he  believed,  quite  rightly,  that  his  son  was  in 
no  mood  to  accept  further  disillusionment. 

"  At  any  rate,"  he  grumbled,  "  you  are  cutting  a 
discred — sorry,  I  didn't  quite  mean  that — you  are 
not  rushing  away  from  town  again  in  pursuit  of  the 
young  lady  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  When  is  she  due  back  in  London  ?  " 

"  On  Sunday." 

"  And  you  will  not  see  her  before  that  day  ?  " 

"  I  believe  not — in  fact,  I  am  fairly  certain  of  it. 
Mrs.  Leland  joined  her  at  Chester  last  night,  so  there 
should  be  no  curtailment  of  the  tour." 

291 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

The  Earl  started. 

"  Mrs.  Leland !  Not  the  Mrs.  Leland  of  Paris, 
and  San  Remo  ?  " 

"  Yes.  By  hazard,  as  it  were,  you  have  let  me 
tell  you  why  I  came  away — one  of  the  reasons.  Mrs. 
Leland  would  have  recognized  me  at  once." 

"  Dear  me,  dear  me,  this  is  a  beastly  muddle ! 
Look  here,  George,  promise  me  you  won't  do  anything 
stupid  for  a  day  or  so.  .  .  .1  have  been  so  pes- 
tered by  people  ...  I  don't  know  which  way  to 
turn.  Why  not  stay  and  meet  your  aunt?  " 

"  Because  I  might  lose  my  temper  with  her." 

"  Ah,  well,  she  is  somewhat  trying  when  it  comes 
to  family  matters.  Still,  I  may  tell  her " 

"  That  she  ought  to  mind  her  own  business  ?  By 
all  means.  And  oblige  me,  too,  by  telling  her  that 
she  would  confer  a  boon  on  humanity  if  she  persuaded 
Lady  Porthcawl  to  go  to — Jericho — or  Tokio — or 
wherever  that  ass,  Porthcawl,  may  happen  to  be." 

"  Millicent  Porthcawl  was  at  Bournemouth,  you 
know." 

"  Yes,  I  spoke  to  her.  She  had  the  impudence 
to  introduce  Ducrot  to  Cynthia." 

"  By  gad!  Did  she,  though?  I  heard  something 
from  Scarland  about  that  affair.  Well,  well — there's 
no  accounting  for  tastes.  I  suppose  you  realize, 
George,  that  I  am  keeping  back  a  good  deal  of  the 
tittle-tattle  which  reached  me  during  your  absence. 
I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings " 

"  Thank  you.     The  absurdity  of  the  present  posi- 

292 


Wherein  Wrath  Beguiles  Good  Judgment 

tion  lies  in  the  fact  that  I  shall  have  all  my  work 
cut  out  to  hold  your  wrath  against  these  people 
within  bounds  when  once  you  have  met  Cynthia." 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  doubt  she  is  pretty,  and  fascinat- 
ing, and  all  that  sort  of  thing,"  growled  the  Earl, 
in  a  grudging  access  of  good  humor.  "  Confound 
it,  that  is  why  we  are  putty  in  their  hands,  George. 
Don't  forget  I've  had  fifty-five  years  of  'em.  Gad! 
I  could  tell  you  things — all  right,  let  us  chuck  the 
dispute  for  the  time.  Shall  I  see  you  at  dinner?  " 

"  Yes — if  you  are  alone." 

"  There  will  be  no  women.  I'll  take  devilish  good 
care  of  that.  Scarland  is  in  town  for  the  show,  and 
he  is  bringing  Sir  Ashley  Stoke,  but  Betty  is  nursing 
a  youngster  through  the  measles.  Good  Lord !  I'm 
glad  your  aunt  didn't  get  hold  of  Betty ! r' 

Now,  Lord  Fairholme's  diatribes  against  the  sex 
were  not  quite  justified.  Notorious  as  a  lady-killer 
in  his  youth,  in  middle  age  he  was  as  garrulous  a 
gossip  as  Mrs.  Devar  herself.  Indeed,  he  had  an 
uneasy  consciousness  that  Lady  St.  Maur  might  turn 
and  rend  him  if  stress  were  laid  only  on  her  efforts 
to  thwart  his  son's  unexpected  leaning  towards  matri- 
mony. During  every  yard  of  the  journey  from 
Chester  to  London  he  had  tried  to  extract  informa- 
tion from  Marigny,  and  the  sharp-witted  French- 
man had  enjoyed  himself  hugely  in  displaying  a  well- 
feigned  reluctance  to  yield  to  the  Earl's  probing. 
It  was  just  as  much  a  part  of  his  scheme  to  make 
the  threatened  alliance  as  objectionable  on  the  one 

293 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

side  as  on  the  other.  By  painting  Medenham  as 
an  unprincipled  adventurer  he  had  succeeded  in 
alarming  Vanrenen ;  his  sly  hints,  derogatory  of  both 
Cynthia  and  her  father,  now  fanned  the  flame  of 
suspicion  kindled  in  Lord  Fairholme's  breast  by  his 
sister's  remonstrances.  Unfortunately,  his  lordship 
had  gone  straight  to  Curzon  Street  and  told  Susan 
St.  Maur  every  word  that  Marigny  had  said,  and 
a  good  deal  that  he  had  not  said,  but  had  left  to 
be  inferred  from  a  smirk,  a  malicious  glance,  an  airy 
gesture. 

Perhaps  the  two  elderly  guardians  of  the  Fair- 
holme  line  were  not  wholly  to  blame  for  their  inter- 
ference. The  title  descended  through  male  heirs 
only,  and  Medenham's  marriage  thereby  attained  an 
added  importance.  Lord  Fairholme  himself  had  been 
singularly  fortunate  in  escaping  a  mesalliance — sev- 
eral, in  fact — and  it  was  the  one  great  trouble  in 
his  otherwise  smooth  and  self-contained  life  that  his 
high-born  and  most  admirable  countess  had  died  soon 
after  the  birth  of  her  second  child,  the  present  Mar- 
chioness of  Scarland.  Such  a  man  would  naturally 
be  the  most  jealous  scrutineer  of  the  pretensions  of 
his  son's  chosen  wife.  Qualities  of  heart  and  mind 
would  weigh  light  in  the  scale  against  genealogy. 
To  his  thinking,  blue  blood  differed  from  the  common 
red  stream  as  the  claret  of  some  noted  vintage  dif- 
fers from  the  vin  ordinaire  of  the  same  year.  Per- 
haps he  had  blundered  on  a  well-founded  theory, 
but  he  certainly  lacked  discrimination  as  to  the  cru. 

294 


Wherein  Wrath  Beguiles  Good  Judgment 

Medenham  did  some  shopping,  lunched  at  a  club, 
surprised  his  tailor  by  a  prolonged  visit  and  close 
inspection  of  tweeds  and  broadcloths,  and  success- 
fully repressed  a  strong  desire  to  write  a  letter.  It 
was  some  consolation  to  peruse  for  the  twentieth  time 
the  four  closely-written  pages  on  which  Cynthia  had 
set  out  the  tour's  timetable  for  the  benefit  of  Sim- 
monds.  He  had  not  returned  it,  since  she  possessed 
a  copy,  and  in  his  mind's  eye  he  followed  the  Mer- 
cury in  its  flight  up  the  map  from  end  to  end  of 
industrial  Lancashire,  through  smoky  Preston  to  trim 
Lancaster  and  quiet  Kendal,  and  finally,  after  a 
long  day,  to  the  brooding  peace  and  serene  beauty 
of  Windermere. 

At  last,  rousing  himself  from  his  dreaming — for 
he  was  now  back  in  his  club  again,  sipping  a  cup  of 
tea — he  glanced  at  his  watch.  Five  o'clock — a  likely 
hour  to  find  Mr.  Vanrenen  in  the  hotel,  if,  as  was 
most  probable,  Devar's  telegram  to  his  mother  was 
altogether  mistaken  in  its  report  of  the  millionaire's 
movements. 

He  meant,  of  course,  to  make  himself  known  to 
Vanrenen,  and  go  through  the  whole  adventure  from 
A  to  Z.  It  should  provide  an  interesting  story,  he 
thought — lively  as  a  novel  in  some  of  its  chapters, 
and  calculated  to  appeal  strongly  to  the  bright  in- 
telligence of  an  American.  On  his  way  to  the  Savoy, 
he  tried  to  picture  to  himself  just  what  Cynthia's 
father  would  look  like.  It  was  a  futile  endeavor, 
because  he  had  never  yet  been  able  to  construct  a 

295 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

mental  portrait  of  any  man  wholly  unknown  to  him. 
One  day  in  Madras  he  had  telephoned  to  an  official 
for  leave  to  shoot  an  elephant  in  a  Government 
reservation,  and  a  deep  voice  boomed  back  an  answer. 
Apparently  it  belonged  to  a  man  whose  stature  war- 
ranted his  appointment  as  controller  of  monsters, 
but  when  Medenham  called  in  person  for  the  permit 
he  found  that  the  voice  came  from  a  lean  and  wizened 
scrap  of  humanity  about  five  feet  high. 

He  smiled  at  the  recollection  of  his  dumb  surprise 
at  this  apparition,  and  was  in  the  best  of  humors 
with  himself  when  he  arrived  at  the  inquiry  office 
of  the  Savoy  Hotel  and  asked  for  Mr.  Peter  Van- 
renen. 

"  Left  here  Sunday,  sir,"  was  the  answer.  "  He 
will  not  return  for  a  week." 

This  blow  dished  his  hopes.  He  had  counted 
strongly  on  gaining  Vanrenen's  friendship  and  sym- 
pathy before  Cynthia's  dainty  vision  met  his  eyes 
again. 

"  Has  he  gone  to  Paris  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Can't  say,  sir,  I'm  sure.  My  orders  are  to  tell 
callers  that  Mr.  Vanrenen  will  be  in  town  next  Tues- 
day." 

So,  if  present  arrangements  held  good,  Cynthia 
would  reach  London  two  days  before  her  father. 
Well,  he  must  contrive  somehow  to  get  Lady  St. 
Maur  in  a  proper  frame  of  mind.  Mrs.  Leland's 
presence  would  be  a  positive  blessing  in  that  respect. 
Meanwhile,  there  would  be  no  harm  done  if  he 

296 


Wherein  Wrath  Beguiles  Good  Judgment 

Lest  prudence  should  conquer  him  a  second  time 
he  sat  down  and  wrote: 


DEAR  Miss  VANRENEN — I  hope  the  car  is  behaving  in  a  man- 
ner that  befits  the  messenger  of  the  gods,  and  that  Dale  has 
justified  my  faith  in  him.  I  am  here  in  fulfillment  of  my 
promise  to  call  on  Mr.  Vanrenen:  unluckily,  he  is  out  of  town, 
and  the  hotel  people  say  he  is  not  expected  back  till  a  day 
early  next  week.  If  you  make  any  change  in  your  programme, 
or  even  if  you  have  a  minute  to  spare,  though  proving  your- 
self a  true  American  by  rigidly  adhering  to  schedule,  please 
send  a  line  to  yours  ever  sincerely 

Once  more  he  hesitated  at  the  name,  and  contented 
himself  by  signing  "  George,  the  Chauffeur." 

The  problem  of  an  address  offered  some  difficulty, 
but  he  boldly  declared  for  "  91  Grosvenor  Square  " 
in  a  postscript,  believing,  and  correctly  as  it  hap- 
pened, that  Cynthia  shared  with  Sam  Weller  a  pecu- 
liar knowledge  of  London  that  rendered  one  address 
very  like  unto  another  in  her  eye^s. 

The  failure  to  meet  Vanrenen  was  the  first  real 
drawback  he  had  encountered.  It  was  irritating, 
at  the  time,  but  he  gave  little  heed  to  it  after  the  first 
pang  of  disappointment  had  passed.  Fate,  which 
had  proved  so  kind  during  six  days,  did  not  see  fit 
to  warn  him  that  her  smiles  would  now  be  replaced 
by  frowns.  She  even  lulled  him  into  the  belief  that 
Vanrenen's  absence  might  prove  fortunate. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  fancied,  "  I  would  have  rubbed  him 
up  the  wrong  way.  He  is  devoted  to  his  daughter, 
and  he  might  look  on  my  harmless  but  unavoidable 

297 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

guile  with  a  prejudiced  eye.  In  any  event,  I  should 
be  compelled  to  go  slow  in  analyzing  Mrs.  Devar's 
motives,  and  this  pertinacious  Marigny  seems  to  have 
been  fairly  intimate  with  him  in  Paris.  Yes,  on 
the  whole,  it  is  just  as  well  that  I  missed  him.  Cyn- 
thia can  put  matters  before  him  in  a  better  light  than 
is  possible  to  one  who  is  an  utter  stranger.  I  must 
tell  her,  in  my  best  American,  that  it  is  up  to  her 
to  explain  Fitzroy  to  pap." 

Before  leaving  the  hotel  he  inquired  for  Count 
Edouard  Marigny.  He  drew  a  blank  there.  No 
such  name  had  been  registered  during  the  year. 

The  dinner  passed  without  noteworthy  incident. 
Sir  Ashley  Stoke  condemned  the  Government,  the 
Marquis  of  Scarland  was  more  than  skeptical  as  to 
the  prospects  of  grouse  shooting  after  the  deluge  in 
April  and  May,  Lord  Fairholme  growled  at  the 
pernicious  effects  of  the  Ground  Game  Act,  and 
Medenham  spoke  of  these  things  with  his  lips  but  in 
his  heart  thought  of  Cynthia.  The  four  men  were 
in  the  smoking-room,  and  the  Earl  was  chaffing  his 
son  on  account  of  his  inability  to  play  bridge,  when 
Tomkinson  entered.  He  approached  Medenham. 

"  Dale  has  arrived ;  he  wishes  to  see  your  lordship," 
he  said  in  a  stage  whisper. 

"  Dale !  " 

The  young  man  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  his  troubled 
cry  brought  a  smile  of  wonderment  to  his  brother- 
in-law's  face. 

"  By   Jove !  "   said   the   Marquis,   "  you   couldn't 

298 


Wherein  Wrath  Beguiles  Good  Judgment 

have  jumped  quicker  if  Tomkinson  had  said  '  the 
devil'  instead  of  'Dale.'  Who,  then,  is  Dale?" 

Medenham  hurried  from  the  room  without  another 
word.  The  Earl  shook  his  head. 

"  More  mischief ! "  he  muttered.  "  Dale  is 
George's  chauffeur.  I  suppose  he  is  mixed  up  in 
this  Vanrenen  muddle  again." 

"  What  muddle  is  that?  "  asked  Scarland.  "  Is 
George  in  it? — that  would  be  unusual." 

Fairholme  suddenly  bethought  himself. 

"  Something  to  do  with  a  motor,"  he  said  vaguely. 
"  The  Vanrenens  are  Americans,  friends  of  Mrs.  Le- 
land's.  You  remember  her,  Arthur,  don't  you?  " 

"  Perfectly.  Is  *  Vanrenen  '  the  Peter  of  that 
ilk?  " 

"  I  think  so.  Yes — that  is  the  name — Peter  Van- 
renen." 

"  Oh,  he's  all  right.  If  George  has  any  dispute 
with  him  I'll  settle  it  in  a  minute.  He  is  as  straight 
as  they  make  'em — bought  two  of  my  prize  bulls  three 
years  ago  for  his  ranch  in  Montana.  By  the  way, 
someone  told  me  the  other  day  that  he  has  a  very 
pretty  daughter — '  a  real  peach '  the  man  said. 
Wonder  if  George  has  seen  her?  Begad,  he  might 
go  farther  and  fare  worse.  We  effete  aristocrats 
can  do  with  a  strain  of  new  blood  occasionally,  eh, 
what?" 

"  *  Vanrenen  '  sounds  like  a  blend  of  old  Dutch  and 
New  England,"  said  Sir  Ashley  Stoke,  who  was  sane 
on  all  subjects  save  one,  his  pet  mania  being  the 

299 


Cynthia's  Chaufeur 

decay  of  England  since  the  passing  of  the  Victorian 
age. 

The  Earl  helped  himself  to  a  whisky  and  soda. 
His  egotism  was  severely  shaken.  Who  would  have 
thought  that  a  pillar  of  the  state  like  Scarland  would 
approve  of  this  Vanrenen  girl  as  a  match  for  George, 
even  in  jest?  But  he  had  the  good  sense  to  steer 
clear  of  explanations.  When  he  found  his  voice  it 
was  to  swear  at  the  quality  of  the  whisky. 

Medenham,  meanwhile,  had  rushed  into  the  hall. 
He  expected  to  find  Dale  there,  but  saw  no  one  except 
the  suave  footman  on  duty.  The  man  opened  the 
door. 

"  Dale  is  outside,  in  the  car,  my  lord,"  he  said. 

"  In  the  car !  "  That  meant  the  bursting  of  a 
meteor  in  a  blue  sky. 

Sure  enough,  there  stood  the  Mercury,  dusty  and 
panting,  but  seemingly  gathering  breath  for  another 
mighty  effort  if  necessary. 

"  Come  in !  "  shouted  Medenham,  on  whom  the  first 
strong  shadow  of  impending  disaster  had  fallen  as 
soon  as  he  heard  those  ill-omened  words  "  in  the  car." 

Dale  scrambled  to  the  pavement  and  walked  stiffly 
up  the  steps,  being  weary  after  an  almost  unbroken 
run  of  one  hundred  and  eighty  miles.  He  nodded 
to  the  Mercury,  and  the  footman  rang  for  a  page- 
boy to  mount  guard.  Medenham  led  the  way  into 
a  small  anteroom  and  switched  on  the  light. 

"  Now,"  he  said. 

"  Mr.  Vanrenen  kem  to  Chester  last  night  in  Sim- 

300 


Wherein  Wrath  Beguiles  Good  Judgment 

monds's  car,  my  lord.  This  mornin'  he  sent  for 
me  an'  sez  '  who  are  you?  '  '  The  chauffeur,  sir,' 
sez  I.  '  Whose  chauffeur?  '  sez  he.  '  Yours  for 
the  time,'  sez  I,  bein'  sort  of  ready  for  him.  '  Well, 
you  can  get,'  sez  he.  '  Get  what  ?  '  sez  I.  '  Get 
out,'  sez  he.  Of  course,  my  lord,  I  knew  well  enough 
what  he  meant,  but  I  wanted  to  have  it  straight,  an' 
I  got  it." 

Dale's  style  of  speech  was  elliptical,  though  he 
might  have  been  surprised  if  told  so.  For  once, 
Medenham  wished  he  was  a  loquacious  man. 

"Was  nothing  else  said?"  he  asked.  "No  mes- 
sage from — anyone?  No  reason  given?  What 
brought  Simmonds  to  Chester?  " 

"  Mr.  Vanrenen  picked  him  up  in  Bristol  at  4  a.m. 
yesterday,  my  lord.  Simmonds  made  out  that  that 
there  Frenchman,  Monsieur  Marinny  "  (Dale  prided 
himself  on  a  smattering  of  French) ,  "  had  pitched 
a  fine  ole  tale  about  you.  In  fact,  the  bearings  got 
so  hot  at  Symon's  Yat  that  Simmonds  chucked  his 
job  till  Mr.  Vanrenen  sort  of  apologized." 

"  Can  you  be  specific,  Dale?  You  are  hard  to 
follow." 

"  Well,  my  lord,  I  could  do  with  a  drink.  It's 
a  long  road  that  stretches  between  here  an'  Chester, 
an'  I  left  there  at  ten  o'clock  this  morning,  runnin' 
through  any  Gord's  quantity  of  traps,  an'  all." 

Medenham  did  not  smile.  He  touched  a  bell,  and 
found  that  Dale's  specific  was  a  bottle  of  beer. 

"  I  never  set  eyes  on  Miss  Cynthia,"  continued  the 

301 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

chauffeur,  his  wits  quickening  under  the  soothing 
draught.  "  Another  lady  kem  out  an'  looked  me 
up  an'  down.  '  Yes,  that  is  the  car,'  she  said,  an' 
with  that  I  remembered  seein'  her  at  San  Remo. 
Mrs.  Devar  seemed  as  if  she  wanted  to  say  somethink, 
but  she  daren't,  because  Mr.  Vanrenen's  eye  was  on 
her.  He  made  no  bones  about  it,  but  told  me  to 
hike  back  to  London  the  minnit  Simmonds  got  the 
carrier  off." 

"  I  am  quite  clear  on  that  point.  What  I  really 
want  to  know  is  the  reason  behind  Simmonds's  state- 
ment about  Count  Marigny's  tale-pitching,  as  you 
term  it." 

"  Oh,  of  course  Mr.  Vanrenen  didn't  say  any- 
think.  Simmonds  was  what  you  call  puttin'  two  an' 
two  together.  From  what  Mr.  Vanrenen  arsked  him 
it  was  easy  enough  to  get  at  the  Frenchman's  dirty 
tricks." 

"  Tell  me  how  Simmonds  put  it?  "  said  Medenham, 
with  the  patience  of  a  great  anger.  Dale  scratched 
the  back  of  his  ear. 

"  For  one  thing,  my  lord,  Mr.  Vanrenen  wanted 
to  know  if  you  was  reelly  a  viscount.  It  was  a  long 
time  before  Simmonds  could  get  him  to  believe  that 
the  accident  in  Down  Street  wasn't  a  put  up  job. 
Then,  he  was  sure  you  stopped  in  Symon's  Yat  just 
in  order  to  throw  Mr.  Marinny  off  your  track.  Sim- 
monds is  no  fool,  my  lord,  an'  he  guesses  that  the 
Frenchman  brought  Mr.  Vanrenen  hot-foot  from 
Paris  so  as  to — to " 

30£ 


Wherein  Wrath  Beguiles  Good  Judgment 

Dale  grinned,  and  sought  inspiration  in  the  bottom 
of  an  empty  glass. 

"  Well,  my  lord,  excuse  me,"  he  said,  "  but  you 
know  what  I  mean." 

Medenham  completed  the  sentence. 

"  So  as  to  prevent  me  from  marrying  Miss  Cyn- 
thia." 

"  Exactly  what  Simmonda  an'  me  said,  my  lord." 

"  He  will  not  succeed,  Dale." 

"  I  never  thought  he  would.  Once  your  lordship 
is  set  on  a  thing,  well,  that  thing  occurs." 

"Thank  you.      Good-night!" 

Medenham  did  not  feel  equal  to  facing  the  men 
in  the  smoking-room  again.  He  went  out,  walked 
up  Oxford  Street  and  across  the  park,  and  reached 
his  room  about  midnight.  Next  day  he  devoted 
himself  to  work.  In  view  of  the  new  and  strange 
circumstances  that  had  arisen  he  believed  confidently 
that  Cynthia  would  reply  to  his  letter  by  return  of 
post,  and  there  should  be  no  chance  of  delay,  because 
she  meant  to  stay  two  days  at  Windermere,  making 
that  town  the  center  of  excursions  through  lake- 
land. 

While  the  son  was  seeking  forgetfulness  in  classi- 
fying a  collection  of  moths  and  night  flies  caught 
during  a  week  at  La  Turbie,  the  father  found  occu- 
pation in  prosecuting  diligent  inquiries  into  the  social 
and  financial  standing  of  Peter  Vanrenen.  As  a 
result,  the  Earl  visited  Lady  St.  Maur,  and,  as  a 
further  result,  Lady  St.  Maur  wrote  a  very  biting 

303 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

and  sarcastic  note  to  "  My  dear  Millicent."  More- 
over, she  decided  not  to  press  her  nephew  to  visit  her 
at  present. 

Next  morning,  Medenham  was  up  betimes.  He 
heard  the  early  postman's  knock,  and  Tomkinson  in 
person  brought  the  letters. 

"  There's  nothink  in  the  name  of  Fitzroy,  my 
lord,"  said  he,  having  been  warned  in  that  matter 
overnight. 

Medenham  took  his  packet  with  the  best  grace 
possible,  trying  to  assure  himself  that  Cynthia  had 
written  at  a  late  hour  and  had  missed  the  first  Lon- 
don mail  in  consequence.  Glancing  hurriedly  through 
the  correspondence,  however,  his  glance  fell  on  a  let- 
ter bearing  the  Windermere  postmark.  It  was  ad- 
dressed, in  an  unfamiliar  hand,  to  "  Viscount  Meden- 
ham," and  the  writing  was  bold,  well-formed,  and 
business-like.  Then  he  read: 


SIR — My  daughter  received  a  note  from  you  this  morning, 
and  she  was  about  to  answer  it  when  I  informed  her  that  she 
was  communicating  with  a  person  who  had  given  her  an  as- 
sumed name.  I  also  asked  her,  as  a  favor,  to  permit  me  to 
reply  in  her  stead.  Now,  I  have  this  to  say — Miss  Vanrenen 
does  not  know,  and  will  never  know  from  me,  the  true  nature 
of  the  trick  you  played  on  her.  You  bear  the  label  of  a 
gentleman,  so  it  is  my  earnest  hope — indeed,  my  sincere  belief — 
that  you  will  respect  the  trust  she  placed  in  you,  and  not  expose 
her  to  the  idle  chatter  of  clubs  and  scandal-spreading  drawing- 
rooms.  During  two  days  I  have  been  very  bitter  against  you. 
To-day  I  take  a  calmer  view,  and,  provided  that  neither  my 
daughter  nor  I  ever  see  or  hear  of  you  again,  I  shall  be  willing 
to  credit  that  you  acted  more  in  a  spirit  of  youthful  caprice 

304s 


Wherein  Wrath  Beguiles  Good  Judgment 

than  from  any  foul  desire  to  injure  the  good  repute  of  one 
who  has  done  no  harm  to  you  or  yours. 
I  am, 

Yours  truly, 

PETEE  VANRENEH. 


Medenham  read  and  reread  this  harsh  letter  many 
times.  Then,  out  of  brooding  chaos,  leaped  one 
fiery  question — where  was  Marigny? 

The  gate  which  Cynthia's  father  had  shut  and 
bolted  in  his  face  did  not  frighten  him.  He  had 
leaped  a  wall  of  brass  and  triple  steel  when  he  won 
Cynthia  Vanrenen's  love  in  the  guise  of  an  humble 
chauffeur,  so  it  was  unbelievable  that  the  barrier 
interposed  by  a  father's  misguided  wrath  should 
prove  unsurmountable. 

But  Marigny !  He  wanted  to  feel  his  fingers 
clutching  that  slender  throat,  to  see  that  pink  and 
white  face  empurple  and  grow  black  under  their 
strain,  and  it  was  all-important  that  the  scoundrel 
should  be  brought  to  book  before  the  Vanrenens  re- 
turned to  London.  He  gave  a  passing  thought  to 
Mrs.  Leland,  it  was  true.  If  she  shared  with  Van- 
renen  the  silly  little  secret  of  his  identity,  it  was 
beyond  comprehension  that  she  should  let  her  friend 
hold  the  view  that  he  (Medenham)  was  merely  an 
enterprising  blackguard. 

Still,  these  considerations  were  light  as  thistle-down 
compared  with  the  need  of  finding  Marigny.  He  and 
Dale  began  to  hunt  London  for  the  Frenchman. 
But  they  had  to  deal  with  a  wary  bird,  who  would 

305 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

not  break  covert  till  it  suited  his  own  convenience. 
And  then,  the  sublime  cheek  of  the  man!  On  the 
Friday  morning,  when  Medenham  rose  with  a  fixed 
resolve  to  obtain  the  services  of  a  private  detective, 
he  received  this  note: 


DEAR  VISCOUNT  MEDENHAM — I  have  a  notion,  as  our  mutual 
acquaintance  Mr.  Vanrenen  would  say  (Do  you  know  him? 
Now  that  I  consider  the  matter,  I  think  not),  that  you  are 
anxious  to  meet  me.  We  have  things  to  discuss,  have  we  not? 
Well,  then  I  await  you  at  the  above  address. 

Yours  to  command, 

EDOUARD  MARIGNY. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AND  GOOD  JUDGMENT  YIELDS  TO  FOLLY 

AT  any  other  moment  the  tone  of  confidence  under- 
lying the  effrontery  of  this  letter  would  certainly 
have  revealed  its  presence  to  a  brain  more  than  or- 
dinarily acute.  But  in  the  storm  and  stress  of  his 
rage  against  gods  and  men,  Medenham  did  not  wait 
to  ponder  subtleties  of  expression.  No  matter  what 
the  hidden  reason  that  inspired  Marigny's  pen,  it 
was  enough  for  Medenham  to  know  that  at  last  that 
arch-plotter  and  very  perfect  rascal  was  within  his 
reach.  He  breakfasted  in  a  fury  of  haste,  crammed 
on  a  hat,  and  rushed  away,  meaning  to  drive  in  a 
cab  to  the  hotel  in  Northumberland  Avenue  from 
which  Marigny  wrote. 

Such  was  his  agitated  state  that  he  was  not  even 
surprised  when  he  found  the  Mercury  waiting  out- 
side, with  Dale,  taciturn  as  ever,  scrutinizing  the 
day's  sporting  news.  In  sober  fact,  the  man  was 
almost  as  perturbed  as  his  master.  For  an  hour  in 
the  morning,  and  again  during  certain  periods  of 
suspense  in  the  afternoon,  he  forgot  his  troubles  in 
the  effort  either  to  "  spot  winners  "  or  to  persuade 

307 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

himself  that  the  horses  he  had  selected  for  particular 
races  had  not  run,  since  their  names  failed  to  appear 
among  the  "  first  three."  But  these  spasms  of  an- 
ticipation and  disillusionment  soon  passed.  During 
the  remainder  of  the  long  hours  of  daylight  Dale  was 
ever  on  the  qui  vive  for  a  wild  rush  of  two  or  three 
hundred  miles  in  pursuit  of  the  woman  whose  charms 
had  so  effectually  subjugated  the  young  Viscount. 
Even  the  hunt  for  Marigny  did  not  weaken  Dale's 
belief,  and  Medenham  was  never  in  Cavendish  Square 
or  at  his  club  at  any  practicable  hour  that  the  Mer- 
cury was  not  at  hand,  with  petrol  tanks  full,  luggage 
carriers  attached,  and  a  full  stock  of  spares  and 
reserve  spirit  on  board.  At  any  rate,  on  this  occa- 
sion Medenham  merely  gave  him  Marigny's  address, 
and  jumped  inside.  Dale  was  disappointed.  He 
expected  the  order  to  be  "  Carlisle,"  at  the  least. 

Soon  his  lordship  was  being  conducted  by  an  hotel 
servant  to  a  private  sitting-room.  The  Frenchman, 
who  was  seated  at  a  table,  writing,  when  he  entered, 
rose  and  bowed  politely. 

"  I  thought  it  highly  probable  that  I  should  have 
the  honor  of  seeing  you  this  morning,  Viscount 
Medenham,"  he  said,  and  there  was  a  touch  of  re- 
straint, of  formal  courtesy,  in  his  voice  that  the 
other,  even  in  his  anger  against  the  man,  did  not 
fail  to  notice.  Oddly  enough,  it  savored  of  brutality 
to  attack  him  without  preface,  and  Marigny  seemed  to 
be  unconscious  of  his  visitor's  unconcealed  animosity. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  here,"  he  went  on  glibly. 

308 


— And  Good  Judgment  Yields  to  Folly 

"  Recent  events  call  for  a  full  discussion  between 
you  and  me,  do  you  agree?  But  before  we  come 
to  close  quarters,  as  you  say  in  England,  I  wish  to 
know  whether  the  argument  is  to  be  conducted  on 
lines  that  befit  gentlemen.  On  the  last  occasion 
when  we  differed,  you  used  the  methods  of  the  coster- 
monger." 

"  They  served  their  purpose,"  said  Medenham,  an- 
noyed at  finding  the  Frenchman's  coolness  rather  dis- 
concerting. 

Suddenly,  he  decided  on  a  new  plan  of  action,  and 
resolved  to  let  the  man  say  what  he  chose.  Dearly 
as  he  would  have  liked  to  wreak  physical  vengeance 
on  him,  he  felt  that  such  a  proceeding  offered  the 
least  satisfactory  way  out  of  a  situation  fraught 
with  no  small  risk  of  publicity.  Marigny  must  have 
had  some  all-powerful  motive  in  sending  for  him; 
better  learn  that  before  his  bitter  and  contemptuous 
words  sealed  an  adversary's  lips. 

"  Won't  you  sit  down  ?  "  came  the  urbane  request. 

"  I  prefer  standing,  if  you  don't  mind,"  said 
Medenham  curtly ;  then  he  added,  after  a  little  pause : 

"  It  may  clear  the  atmosphere  somewhat  if  I  tell 
you  that  I  threatened  you  at  Bristol  merely  because 
a  certain  issue  had  to  be  determined  within  a  few 
seconds.  That  consideration  does  not  apply  now. 
You  are  at  liberty  to  say  what  you  like  without  fear 
of  consequences." 

The  Frenchman  elevated  his  eyebrows. 

"  Fear?  "  he  said. 

309 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

"  Oh,  don't  bandy  words  with  me.  You  know 
what  I  mean.  I  suppose  a  man  must  possess  courage 
of  a  sort  even  to  become  a  blackmailer,  which  is 
what  you  threaten  to  develop  into.  At  any  rate, 
I  promise  to  keep  my  hands  off  you,  if  that  is  what 
you  want." 

"  Not  exactly,"  was  the  quiet  answer.  "  One  may 
draw  distinctions,  even  in  that  regard,  but  I  do  wish 
for  an  opportunity  to  discuss  our  quarrel  without 
an  appeal  to  brute  force." 

"  In  other  words,"  said  Medenham  sternly,  "  you 
want  to  be  free  to  say  something  which  under  ordi- 
nary conditions  would  earn  you  a  thrashing.  Well 
—say  it !  " 

Marigny  nodded,  pulled  a  chair  round  so  that  he 
was  straddled  across  it,  facing  Medenham,  with  his 
arms  resting  on  the  back.  He  lit  a  cigarette,  and 
seemed  to  draw  inspiration  from  the  first  dense  cloud 
of  smoke,  for  his  eyes  dwelt  on  it  rather  than  sought 
the  Englishman's  frown. 

"  In  a  dispute  of  this  kind,"  he  said,  "  it  is  well 
to  begin  at  the  beginning,  otherwise  one's  motives 
are  apt  to  be  misunderstood.  Even  you,  I  suppose, 
will  admit  that  I  was  first  in  the  field." 

There  was  no  answer.  To  his  credit,  Medenham 
thought,  Marigny  showed  a  curious  unwillingness  to 
mention  Cynthia's  name,  but,  no  matter  what  he  had 
in  mind,  Medenham  certainly  did  not  intend  to  render 
his  task  easier. 

"  You   see,"   went   on   Count   Edouard,    after    a 

310 


— And  Good  Judgment  Yields  to  Folly 

thoughtful  puff  or  two,  "  I  am  quite  as  well-born  a 
man  in  my  country  as  you  are  in  yours.  I  have 
not  ascertained  the  date  when  the  Fairholme  Earldom 
was  created,  but  there  has  been  a  Comte  Marigny  on 
the  Loire  since  1434.  Of  course,  you  understand 
that  I  do  not  mention  this  trivial  fact  in  any  ridicu- 
lous spirit  of  boasting.  I  only  put  it  forward  as 
constituting  a  claim  to  a  certain  equality.  That  is 
all.  Unfortunately,  recent  events  in  my  family  have 
robbed  me  of  those  necessary  appurtenances  to  rank 
and  position  which  a  happier  fate  has  preserved  to 
you.  I  am  poor,  you  are  rich;  I  must  marry  a 
wife  with  money,  you  can  afford  to  marry  for  love. 
Why  then,  Viscount  Medenham,  should  you  step  in 
and  rob  me  of  a  rich  wife  ?  " 

In  spite  of  his  loathing  of  the  means  adopted  by 
this  self-proclaimed  rival  to  snatch  an  advantage, 
Medenham  did  not  hesitate  to  reply: 

"  My  answer  to  that  is,  of  course,  that  I  have 
done  nothing  of  the  sort.  I  simply  intervened  be- 
tween a  crew  of  adventurers  and  their  possible, 
though  most  improbable,  victim." 

"  Unfortunately,  our  points  of  view  are  irrecon- 
cilable," went  on  the  Frenchman  airily.  "  I  might 
claim  that  the  term  adventurer,  as  applied  to  me, 
is  a  harsh  one.  You  may  inquire  where  and  how 
you  choose  in  Paris,  and  you  will  find  no  discredit 
attached  to  my  name.  But  that  phase  of  the  diffi- 
culty is  now  of  no  consequence.  Let  us  keep  to 
the  main  issue.  Some  three  months  ago  I  made  the 

311 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

acquaintance  of  a  lady  fitted  in  every  respect  to 
fill  my  ideal.  I  was  on  good  terms  with  her  father, 
and  by  no  means  distasteful  to  the  lady  herself. 
Given  a  fair  opportunity,  I  thought  I  might  win  her, 
and  I  was  puzzling  my  wits  to  know  how  best  to 
attain  that  most  desirable  end  when  Fate  apparently 
opened  a  way.  But  you  have  no  doubt  observed 
in  life  that  while  one  can  seldom  misinterpret  Fate's 
frowns,  her  smiles  can  be  damnably  misleading. 
Sometimes  they  are  little  else  than  malicious  leers ; 
it  was  so  now,  and  I  quickly  found  that  I  had  erred 
badly  in  thinking  that  I  had  been  vouchsafed  a 
golden  opportunity " 

"  Can't  you  spare  me  some  of  this  theorizing  ?  " 
broke  in  Medenham  with  a  cold  impatience.  "  You 
happened  to  send  for  me  at  a  moment  when  I  was 
exceedingly  anxious  to  meet  you.  The  fact  that 
I  am  here  in  response  to  your  request  stops  me  from 
carrying  out  the  special  purpose  I  had  in  view.  That 
can  wait,  though  not  very  long.  At  any  rate,  you 
might  save  yourself  some  hair-splitting  and  me  some 
exercise  of  self-restraint  by  telling  me  what  it  is  that 
you  want." 

"  A  thousand  regrets  if  I  am  boring  you,"  said 
Marigny,  leaning  back  in  the  chair  and  laying  the 
cigarette  on  the  mantelpiece.  "  Yet  bear  with  me 
a  little  while,  I  pray  you ;  these  explanations  are 
necessary.  A  sane  man  acts  with  motive,  and  it 
is  only  reasonable  that  you  should  understand  my 
motive  before  you  hear  my  project." 

312 


— And  Good  Judgment  Yields  to  Folly 

"  Ah,  then,  there  is  a  project?  " 

"  Yes.  You  have  stepped  in  between  me  and  the 
realization  of  my  dearest  wish,  of  my  main  object 
in  life.  You  are,  I  take  it,  a  soldier  and  a  gentle- 
man. There  is  a  way  by  which  men  of  honor  settle 
these  disputes — I  invite  you  to  follow  it." 

The  fantastic  proposal  was  made  with  an  air  of 
dignity  that  robbed  it  of  any  inherent  ludicrousness. 
Greatly  as  he  despised  this  man,  Medenham  could 
not  wholly  conceal  the  wonder  that  leaped  to  his  eyes. 

"  Are  you  suggesting  that  we  should  fight  a  duel  ?  " 
he  asked,  smiling  with  incredulity,  yet  constrained 
to  believe  that  Marigny  was  really  speaking  in  cold 
blood. 

"  Yes — oh,  yes.      A  duel — no  make-believe !  " 

A  curious  change  came  into  Marigny's  voice  at 
that  instant.  He  seemed  to  bark  each  staccato 
phrase;  a  vindictive  fire  gleamed  in  his  black  eyes, 
and  the  olive  tint  showed  beneath  the  pink  and  white 
of  his  skin. 

Medenham  laughed,  almost  good-humoredly. 

"  The  notion  is  worthy  of  you,"  he  said.  "  I 
might  have  expected  it,  but  I  fancied  you  were  more 
sensible.  Surely  you  know  enough  of  my  world  to 
realize  that  such  a  thing  is  impossible." 

"  It  must  be  made  possible,"  said  Marigny  gravely. 

"  It  cannot — I  refuse." 

"  I  am  partly  prepared  for  some  such  answer, 
but  I  shall  be  just  to  you  in  my  thoughts,  Viscount 
Medenham.  I  know  you  are  a  brave  man.  It  is 

313 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

not  cowardice,  but  your  insular  convention  that  re- 
strains you  from  facing  me  on  the  field.  Neverthe- 
less, I  insist." 

Medenham  threw  out  an  impatient  hand. 

"  You  are  talking  arrant  nonsense,  for  what  pur- 
pose I  can  hardly  conceive,"  he  said,  frowning  with 
vexation  at  the  tragi-comedy  into  which  he  had  been 
drawn.  "  Frenchmen,  it  is  true,  regard  these  things 
from  a  different  standpoint.  That  which  seems 
rational  to  you  is  little  else  than  buffoonery  to  me. 
If  that  is  your  object  in  seeking  an  interview,  it 
has  now  been  accomplished.  I  absolutely  decline 
to  entertain  the  proposition  for  a  moment.  You 
have  certainly  succeeded  in  lending  an  air  of  drivel 
to  a  controversy  that  I  regard  as  serious.  I  came 
here  filled  with  very  bitter  thoughts  toward  you,  but 
your  burlesque  has  disarmed  me.  It  is  only  fair, 
however,  that  I  should  warn  you  not  to  cross  my 
path  again,  since  one's  sense  of  humor  may  become 
strained,  and  that  will  be  bad  for  you." 

His  attitude  seemed  to  betoken  an  immediate  de- 
parture, but  Marigny  looked  at  him  so  fixedly  that 
he  waited  to  hear  what  the  other  had  to  say.  He 
was  quite  determined  now  to  keep  Cynthia  out  of 
the  discussion.  Even  Vanrenen's  letter  need  not  be 
mentioned  until  he  had  seen  the  millionaire  in  person 
and  disabused  his  mind  of  the  inept  inventions  with 
which  the  Frenchman  had  perplexed  him. 

"  I  don't  take  your  refusal  as  final,"  said  Count 
Edouard,  speaking  very  slowly,  and  choosing  each 

314 


— And  Good  Judgment  Yields  to  Folly 

sentence  with  evident  care.  "  I  was  at  pains  to  ex- 
plain my  position,  and  there  now  devolves  upon  me 
the  disagreeable  duty  of  telling  you  what  will  happen 
if  you  do  not  fight.  You  English  may  not  care 
to  defend  your  honor  in  the  manner  that  appeals  to 
a  more  sensitive  nation  like  the  French,  but  you  are 
vulnerable  in  your  womenfolk.  I  now  tell  you  quite 
frankly,  that  if  you  do  not  abandon  your  pretensions 
to  Miss  Cynthia  Vanrenen,  I  shall  make  it  my  special 
business  in  life  to  ruin  her  socially." 

Medenham  listened  more  in  amazement  than  in- 
dignation. 

At  first,  the  true  significance  of  the  threat  left 
him  unmoved.  In  his  ears  it  was  a  mere  repetition 
of  the  bogey  raised  by  Vanrenen,  and  that  was  the 
wildest  nonsense. 

"  I  really  do  not  think  you  are  responsible  for 
your  words,"  he  began. 

Marigny  swept  aside  the  protest  with  an  emphatic 
gesture. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am,"  he  said,  his  voice  low,  sibilant, 
menacing.  "  I  have  laid  my  plans,  and  shall  pursue 
them  with  a  complete  detachment.  Others  may  suf- 
fer— so  shall  I.  I  have  practically  reached  the  limit 
of  my  resources.  In  a  month  or  less  I  shall  be 
penniless.  What  money  I  could  scrape  together  I 
devoted  to  the  furtherance  of  this  marriage-project, 
and  I  am  well  aware  that  when  you  meet  Mr.  Van- 
renen, my  poor  little  cobweb  of  intrigue  will  be  blown 
into  thin  air.  You  are  quite  a  desirable  parti,  Vis- 

315 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

count  Medenham — every  condition  points  to  your 
speedy  and  happy  union  to  the  lady  of  your  choice. 
It  is,  however,  a  most  unfortunate  and  lamentable 
fact  that  she  also  happens  to  be  the  lady  of  my 
choice,  and  I  shall  revenge  myself  on  you,  through 
her,  in  the  way  best  calculated  to  pierce  your  thick 
British  hide.  The  future  Countess  of  Fairholme 
should  be  superior  to  Caesar's  wife  in  being  not  only 
above  suspicion,  but  altogether  removed  from  its 
taint.  I  am  afraid  that  it  will  be  my  task  to  tarnish 
her  escutcheon." 

"  You  miserable  rascal,"  cried  Medenham,  stung 
beyond  endurance  by  this  extraordinary  declaration 
of  a  vile  purpose,  "  why  should  you  imagine  that 
I  shall  allow  you  to  sit  there  and  pour  forth  your 
venom  unscathed?  Stand  up,  you  beast,  or  must 
I  kick  you  up !  " 

"  Ha !  You  are  ready  to  fight  me  now,  my  worthy 
Viscount!  But  not  in  your  costermonger  fashion. 
You  cannot,  because  I  have  your  promise.  You  see 
I  have  taken  your  measure  with  some  accuracy,  and 
hard  words  will  not  move  me.  I  mean  you  to  under- 
stand the  issue  clearly.  Either  you  meet  me  under 
conditions  that  will  insure  a  clear  field  for  the  sur- 
vivor, or  I  devote  myself  to  spreading  in  every  quar- 
ter most  likely  to  prove  damaging  to  Miss  Vanrenen 
the  full,  though,  perhaps,  untrue,  but  none  the  less 
fascinating  story  of  her  boating  excursion  on  the 
Wye  at  midnight." 

He  did  then  spring  to  his  feet,  for  Medenham  was 

316 


* — And  Good  Judgment  Yields  to  Folly 

advancing  on  him  with  obvious  intent  to  stifle  the 
monstrous  accusation  by  force. 

"  No !  No !  you  will  achieve  nothing  by  violence," 
he  shouted.  "  You  are  not  so  much  my  physical 
superior  that  I  cannot  defend  myself  until  assistance 
arrives,  and  I  will  ask  you  to  consider  what  manner 
of  gloss  will  be  placed  upon  your  actions  if  I  drag 
you  before  a  magistrate  for  an  assault.  Why,  man, 
you  are  absolutely  at  my  mercy.  You  yourself 
would  be  my  best  witness.  Ah,  toucTie!  You  felt 
the  point  that  time.  Que  diable!  I  gave  you  credit 
for  a  quicker  wit,  but  it  is  gratifying  to  learn  that 
you  are  beginning  at  last  to  see  that  I  am  in  deadly 
earnest.  When  I  strike  there  is  nothing  half-hearted 
behind  my  blow;  I  swear  to  you  that  I  shall  neither 
relent  nor  draw  back.  If  ruin  overwhelm  me,  Cyn- 
thia Vanrenen  shall  be  involved  in  my  downfall. 
Picture  to  yourself  the  smiles,  the  whispers,  the  half- 
spoken  scandal  that  will  cling  to  her  through  life. 
Who  will  believe  her  when  she  says  that  she  was 
ignorant  of  your  rank  when  she  started  out  from 
London  ?  The  incomparable  Cynthia  and  the  naughty 
Viscount,  touring  their  thousand  miles  through  Eng- 
land with  Mrs.  Devar  as  a  shield  of  innocence !  .  .  . 
Mrs.  Devar !  .  .  .  Can't  you  hear  the  long  and  loud 
guffaw  that  would  convulse  society  as  soon  as  her 
name  cropped  up?  Ah,  you  are  writhing  under  the 
lash  now,  I  fancy!  It  is  dawning  on  you  that  a 
peril  greater  than  the  sword  or  bullet  may  be  near. 
Dozens  of  people  in  Paris  and  London  know,  or 

317 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

guess,  at  any  rate,  that  I  was  Cynthia  Vanrenen's 
suitor,  but  as  many  hundreds  as  there  were  dozens 
shall  be  told  that  I  cast  her  off  because  of  the  taint 
placed  on  her  by  your  silly  masquerading.  You 
have  no  escape — you  have  no  answer — your  marriage 
will  only  serve  to  confirm  my  words.  Do  you  hear? 
I  shall  say  .  .  .  But  you  know  what  I  shall  say. 
.  .  .  Now,  will  you  fight  me?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Medenham. 

A  spasm  of  hate  and  furious  joy  struggled  for 
mastery  in  Marigny's  face,  but  he  showed  an  iron 
resolution  that  almost  equaled  the  coolness  of  the 
man  whose  scornful  gaze  might  well  have  abashed 
him. 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  said — "  under  terms,  of 
course?  " 

"  Terms,  you  beast !  The  only  terms  I  ask  are 
that  you  shall  stand  before  me  with  a  sword  in  your 
hand." 

"A  sword! — is  that  quite  fair?  You  Englishmen 
are  not  proficient  with  the  sword.  Why  not  pistols  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  are  right,"  said  Medenham,  turning 
away  as  if  the  sight  of  him  was  loathsome.  "  You 
deserve  the  death  of  a  dog ;  it  would  dishonor  bright 
steel  to  touch  you." 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  Marigny,  who  having  achieved 
his  purpose,  was  now  apparently  unconcerned  as  to 
its  outcome.  "  But  it  would  be  folly  to  fight  without 
arriving  at  an  understanding.  I  shall  try  to  kill 
you,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  admit  that  I  have  striven 

318 


— And  Good  Judgment  Yields  to  Folly 

to  force  you  into  an  active  reciprocity  in  that  respect. 
But  one  might  only  be  wounded — that  is  the  lottery 
of  it — so  I  stipulate  that  if  fortune  should  favor 
me,  and  you  still  live,  you  shall  agree  to  leave  me 
in  undisturbed  possession  of  the  field  for  at  least  six 
months  after  our  encounter." 

Medenham  still  refused  to  look  at  him. 

"  I  agree  to  no  terms  or  conditions  whatsoever," 
he  answered.  "  I  am  meeting  you  solely  because  of 
the  foul  lie  you  have  dared  to  utter  against  the  repu- 
tation of  the  woman  I  love.  If  you  breathe  a  word 
of  it  in  any  other  ear  I  shall  tear  your  tongue  out 
by  the  roots,  duel  or  no  duel." 

"  Ah,  but  that  is  a  pity,"  jeered  the  Frenchman. 
"  Don't  you  see  that  unless  you  accept  my  offer 
I  shall  be  compelled  to  fall  back  on  the  sword,  since 
it  is  absolutely  an  essential  element  of  my  probable 
success  that  you  should  be  cleared  out  of  my  way? 
I  have  no  chance  against  you  in  the  matrimonial 
market,  but  I  think  the  odds  are  in  my  favor  when 
cold  steel  is  the  arbitrator.  Now,  could  anyone  be 
more  frank  than  I  in  this  matter?  I  mean  either 
to  win  or  lose.  There  must  be  no  middle  course. 
Unless  you  are  willing  to  stand  aside,  if  beaten,  I 
can  win  only  by  stepping  over  your  corpse.  Why 
not  avoid  extremes?  They  may  be  unnecessary." 

"  You  have  already  convinced  me  that  your  ethics 
are  drawn  from  the  police  court,  but  I  see  now,  that 
you  depend  for  your  wit  on  the  cheaper  variety  of 
melodrama,"  said  Medenham,  with  a  quiet  derision 

319 


Cynthicts  VJiauffeur 

that  at  last  brought  a  flush  of  passion  to  the  French- 
man's face.  "  I  ^ail  to  see  the  need  of  more  words. 
You  have  asked  for  deeds,  and  you  shall  have  them. 
When  and  where  do  you  propose  that  this  encounter 
shall  take  place  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  morning — about  four  o'clock — on  the 
sands  between  Calais  and  Wissant." 

In  spite  of  all  that  had  gone  before,  Medenham 
was  unprepared  for  this  categorical  answer.  Were 
he  in  full  possession  of  his  faculties  he  must  have  seen 
the  trap  into  which  he  was  being  decoyed.  Un- 
happily, Vanrenen's  letter  had  helped  to  complete 
the  lure,  and  he  was  no  longer  amenable  to  the  dic- 
tates of  cold  reason. 

"  That  is  hardly  possible,"  he  said.  "  I  do  not 
propose  to  bring  myself  under  the  law  as  a  murderer, 
Monsieur  Marigny.  I  am  ready  to  take  the  con- 
sequences of  a  fair  fight,  but  to  secure  that,  certain 
preliminaries  are  indispensable." 

"  I  was  sure  you  would  meet  me,"  said  Marigny, 
smiling  nonchalantly  as  he  lighted  the  cigarette  again. 
"  I  have  arranged  everything,  even  the  attendance 
of  witnesses  and  a  doctor.  We  cross  over  to  Calais 
by  the  night  boat  from  Dover,  pick  up  the  others 
at  the  Hotel  du  Plage,  at  which  they  will  arrive 
to-night,  and  drive  straight  to  the  terram.  There 
is  no  prospect  of  outside  interference.  This  is  not 
the  sort  of  duel  which  either  of  the  combatants  is 
anxious  to  advertise  broadcast.  My  friends  will  be 
discretion  itself,  and  I  need  hardly  express  my  con- 

320 


—And  Good  Judgment  Yields  to  Folly 

viction  that  you  will  not  make  known  in  England 
the  purpose  of  our  journey.  Of  course,  it  is  open 
to  you  to  bring  one  of  your  own  friends,  if  you 
think  fit.  But  my  notion  is,  that  these  affairs  should 
be  settled  discreetly  in  the  presence  of  the  smallest 
possible  number  of  onlookers.  I  shall,  of  course, 
satisfy  you  as  to  the  standing  of  the  gentlemen  I 
have  summoned  from  Paris.  On  the  table  there  are 
their  telegrams  accepting  my  invitation  to  meet  us 
at  Calais.  When  you  came  in  I  was  busy  putting 
my  wretched  affairs  in  order.  At  least  I  have  given 
you  proof  of  my  belief  in  your  courage.  I  even 
go  so  far  as  to  say  that  I  regret  most  profoundly  the 
necessity  which  has  driven  me  to  use  threats  against 
a  charming  lady  in  order  to  wring  a  challenge  out 
of  you.  Of  course,  between  ourselves,  I  know  per- 
fectly well  that  there  is  not  a  word  of  truth  in  the 
statements  I  have  pledged  myself  to  make,  but  that 
defect  in  nowise  detracts  from  their  efficiency.  In- 
deed, it  commends  them  the  more  to  the  real  purveyor 

of  scandal " 

The  door  slammed  behind  Medenham.  A  dreadful 
doubt  assailed  him  that  if  he  did  not  hurry  away 
from  that  taunting  voice  he  might  be  tempted  to 
forget  himself — and  what  torture  that  would  mean 
to  Cynthia!  He  was  indeed  a  prey  to  complex 
emotions  that  rendered  him  utterly  incapable  of  form- 
ing a  well-balanced  judgment.  Nothing  more  il- 
logical, more  ill-advised,  more  thoroughly  unsuited 
to  achieve  its  object  than  the  proposed  duel  could 

321 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

well  be  mooted,  yet  the  sheer  malignity  of  Marigny's 
ruffianly  device  to  attain  his  ends  had  impelled  him 
to  that  final  madness.  Notions  of  right  and  wrong 
were  topsy-turvy  in  his  brain.  He  was  carried  along 
on  a  current  of  passion  that  overturned  every  barrier 
imposed  by  sense  and  prudence.  It  seemed  quite 
reasonable  to  one  who  had  often  risked  life  and  limb 
for  his  country,  who,  from  mere  love  of  sport,  had 
faced  many  an  infuriated  tiger  and  skulking  lion, 
that  he  should  be  justified  by  the  eternal  law  in 
striving  to  rid  the  world  of  this  ultra-beast.  He 
had  not  scrupled  to  kill  a  poisonous  snake — why 
should  he  flinch  from  killing  a  man  whose  chief  equip- 
ment was  the  poison-laden  fang  of  slander?  Hap- 
pily, he  could  use  a  sword  in  a  fashion  that  might 
surprise  Marigny  most  wofully.  If  he  did  not  suc- 
ceed in  killing  the  wretch,  he  would  surely  disable 
him,  and  the  thought  sent  such  a  thrill  of  fierce 
pleasure  through  his  veins  that  he  resolutely  closed 
his  eyes  to  the  lamentable  results  that  must  follow 
his  own  death. 

Cynthia,  at  least,  would  not  suffer;  that  was  all 
he  cared  for.  No  matter  what  happened,  he  did  not 
imagine  for  one  moment  that  she  would  marry  Ma- 
rigny. But  that  eventuality  hardly  troubled  him 
at  all.  The  Frenchman  had  chosen  the  sword,  and 
he  must  abide  by  its  stern  arbitrament. 

"  Home ! "  he  said  to  Dale,  finding  his  retainer's 
eye  bent  inquiringly  on  him  when  he  reached  the 
street.  The  word  had  a  curiously  detached  sound 

822 


— And  Good  Judgment  Yields  to  Folly 

in  his  ears.  "  Home !  "  It  savored  of  rank  lunacy 
to  think  that  within  a  few  short  hours  he  would  be 
standing  on  foreign  soil,  striving  desperately  with 
naked  steel  to  defend  his  own  life  and  destroy  an- 
other's. 


328 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  OUTCOME 

THE  fine  weather  which  had  endured  so  long  gave 
way  that  night.  Storm-clouds  swept  up  from  the 
Atlantic,  and  England  was  drenched  in  rain  when 
Medenham  quitted  Charing  Cross  at  9  p.m.  At  the 
eleventh  hour  he  determined  to  take  Dale  with  him, 
but  that  belated  display  of  wisdom  arose  more  from 
the  need  he  felt  of  human  companionship  than  from 
any  sense  of  the  absurdity  of  going  alone  to  fight  a 
duel  in  a  foreign  land.  He  had  given  no  thought 
during  the  fleeting  hours  to  the  necessity  of  com- 
municating with  his  relatives  in  case  he  fell  a  victim 
to  Marigny's  rancor,  so  he  devoted  himself  now  to 
writing  a  brief  account  to  the  Marquis  of  Scarland 
of  the  causes  that  led  up  to  the  duel.  He  concluded 
with  an  entreaty  that  his  brother-in-law  should  use 
all  means  within  his  power  to  close  down  any  inquiry 
that  might  result,  and  pointed  out  that  in  this  con- 
nection Dale  would  prove  a  valuable  ally,  since  his 
testimony  would  make  clear  the  fact  that  the  con- 
test had  taken  place  in  France,  where  duels  are  looked 
on  with  a  more  lenient  eye  than  in  England. 

S24 


The  Outcome 

It  was  difficult  to  write  legibly  in  the  fast-moving, 
ill-lighted  train,  so  he  completed  the  letter  on  board 
the  steamer,  but  did  not  hand  it  to  Dale  until  after 
Calais  was  reached. 

While  the  steamer  was  drawing  up  to  her  berth, 
he  saw  Count  Edouard  Marigny  among  the  few  pas- 
sengers on  deck.  He  had  turned  his  back  on  the 
Frenchman  at  Charing  Cross,  but  the  imperturbable 
Count,  noticing  Dale  in  the  half-light  of  dawn,  be- 
lieved that  Medenham  had  brought  a  fellow-country- 
man as  a  witness.  He  strolled  up,  and  said  affably : 

"  Is  this  gentleman  your  friend  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Medenham,  "  though  not  quite  in  the 
sense  that  you  mean.  He  will  accompany  me  to  the 
hotel,  and  await  my  return  there." 

The  Frenchman  was  evidently  mystified ;  he  smiled, 
but  passed  no  other  comment.  Dale,  who  heard  what 
was  said,  now  wondered  more  than  ever  what  lay 
behind  this  sudden  journey  to  France.  He  had  al- 
ready recognized  Marigny  as  the  owner  of  the  Du 
Vallon,  for  he  had  seen  him  leaving  the  Metropole 
Hotel  at  Brighton  not  many  days  ago,  and  had  the 
best  of  reasons  for  regarding  him  as  Viscount  Meden- 
ham's  implacable  enemy.  Why,  then,  were  these  two 
crossing  the  Channel  in  company,  going  together  to 
some  hotel,  and  leaving  him,  Dale,  to  kick  his  heels 
in  the  small  hours  of  the  morning  till  it  pleased  them 
to  pick  him  up  again? 

In  justice  to  the  loyal-hearted  chauffeur,  plunged 
quite  unknowingly  into  the  crisis  of  his  life,  it  must 

325 


Cynthia*s  Chauffeur 

be  said  that  the  notion  of  a  duel  did  not  even  occur 
to  his  puzzled  brain. 

Nor  was  he  given  much  time  for  speculation.  A 
carriage  awaited  the  trio  at  the  quay.  They  carried 
no  luggage  to  entail  a  delay  at  the  Customs,  and 
they  drove  off  at  a  rapid  pace  through  silent  streets 
in  a  drenched  downpour  of  rain.  When  they  reached 
the  Hotel  de  la  Plage,  neither  Medenham  nor  the 
Frenchman  alighted,  but  the  former  handed  Dale  a 
letter. 

"  I  may  be  detained  in  France  somewhat  longer 
than  I  anticipated,"  he  said  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone. 
"  If  that  is  so,  and  you  have  to  return  to  England 
without  me,  hand  this  letter  to  the  Marquis  of  Scar- 
land.  Take  great  care  of  it,  and  keep  it  in  your 
possession  until  you  are  positively  assured  that  I  am 
unable  to  go  with  you." 

These  enigmatical  instructions  bothered  their 
hearer  far  more  than  any  of  the  strange  proceedings 
of  the  night. 

"  How  shall  I  know,  my  lord,  whether  I  am  to  go 
back  with  you  or  not?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  of  course  I  shall  make  that  quite  clear," 
laughed  Medenham.  "  At  present,  all  you  have  to 
do  is  to  wait  here  a  little  while." 

His  careless  demeanor  dispelled  the  first  dim 
shadow  of  doubt  that  had  arisen  in  Dale's  mind. 
The  man  was  no  stranger  on  the  Continent,  having 
traveled  with  his  employer  over  the  length  and 
breadth  of  France  and  Northern  Italy;  but  the 

326 


The  Outcome 

manner  of  this  visit  to  the  Hotel  de  la  Plage  at 
Calais  was  so  perplexing  that  he  essayed  another 
question. 

"  When  may  I  expect  you,  my  lord  ?  "  he  asked. 

Medenham  affected  to  consult  his  watch. 

"  Within  an  hour,"  he  said ;  "  perhaps  a  few  min- 
utes more.  At  any  rate,  you  can  arrange  to  catch 
the  afternoon  boat.  Meanwhile,  make  yourself  com- 
fortable." 

By  this  time,  three  men,  whom  he  had  never  seen 
before,  came  out  from  the  hotel.  Apparently,  they 
were  fully  prepared  for  the  coming  of  the  visitors 
from  England.  They  greeted  Count  Marigny  cor- 
dially, and  were  introduced  to  Medenham.  Without 
more  ado,  two  of  them  entered  the  vehicle ;  the  third, 
hoisting  an  umbrella,  climbed  to  the  side  of  the  driver, 
to  whom  no  orders  were  given,  and  the  cab  rattled 
rapidly  away  over  the  paving-stones,  leaving  Dale  to 
gaze  disconsolately  after  it. 

Then  the  vague  suspicions  in  his  mind  awoke  into 
activity.  For  one  thing,  he  had  heard  one  of  the 
strangers  alluded  to  as  "  Monsieur  le  Docteur."  For 
another,  the  newcomers  carried  a  curious-looking  par- 
cel, or  case,  of  an  elongated  shape  that  suggested 
unusual  contents.  Some  trick  of  memory  came  to 
his  aid.  In  an  hotel  at  Lyons  he  had  watched  a 
valet  packing  just  such  an  object  with  the  remainder 
of  his  employer's  luggage,  and  was  told,  on  inquiry, 
that  it  contained  foils.  But  why  foils  ?  ...  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning?  .  .  .  in  a  country  where 

327 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

men  might  still  requite  an  outrage  by  an  appeal  to 
the  law  of  the  jungle? 

Hastily  drawing  from  his  breast  pocket  the  letter 
intrusted  to  him,  he  examined  the  superscription. 
It  was  addressed  simply  to  the  Marquis  of  Scarland, 
and  must  surely  be  a  document  of  immense  signifi- 
cance, or  the  young  Viscount  would  not  have  brought 
him  all  the  way  from  London  to  act  as  messenger 
rather  than  intrust  it  to  the  post.  Each  instant 
Dale's  ideas  became  clearer;  each  instant  his  heart 
throbbed  with  a  deeper  anxiety.  At  last,  when  the 
four-wheeler  disappeared  from  sight  round  an  angle 
of  the  rain-soaked  boulevard,  he  yielded  to  impulse 
and  ran  into  the  hotel.  French  people  are  early 
risers,  but  the  visitors  to  Calais  that  morning  were 
astir  at  an  hour  when  most  of  the  hotel  staff  were 
still  sound  asleep.  A  night  porter,  however,  was 
awaiting  him  at  the  entrance,  and  Dale  forthwith 
engaged  in  a  valiant  struggle  with  the  French  lan- 
guage in  the  effort  to  ascertain,  first,  whether  the 
man  possessed  a  bicycle,  and,  secondly,  whether  he 
would  lend  it.  The  Frenchman,  of  course,  broke  into 
a  voluble  statement  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  de- 
mand, but  the  production  of  a  British  sovereign 
seemed  to  interpret  matters  satisfactorily,  because 
a  bicycle  was  promptly  produced  from  a  shed  in 
the  rear  of  the  building. 

Dale  handed  the  man  the  sovereign,  jumped  on  the 
machine,  and  rode  off  rapidly  in  the  direction  taken 
by  the  cab.  He  had  no  difficulty  in  turning  the 

328 


The  Outcome 

corner  round  which  it  had  vanished,  but  a  little 
farther  on  he  erred  in  thinking  that  it  had  gone 
straight  ahead,  since  the  driver  had  really  turned  to 
the  right  again  in  order  to  keep  clear  of  the  fortifica- 
tions. Dale  traveled  at  such  a  pace  that  the  first 
long  stretch  of  straight  road  opening  up  before  his 
eyes  convinced  him  of  his  blunder  when  no  cab  was 
in  sight.  He  raced  back,  dismounted  at  the  crossing, 
examined  the  road  for  wheel-marks,  and  soon  was 
in  the  saddle  again.  He  was  destined  to  be  thus 
bothered  three  times  in  all,  but,  taught  wisdom 
by  his  initial  mistake,  he  never  passed  a  cross- 
road without  searching  for  the  recent  tracks  of 
wheels. 

The  rain  helped  him  wherever  the  roadway  was 
macadamized,  but  the  paved  routes  militaires  with 
which  Calais  abounds  offered  difficulties  that  caused 
many  minutes  of  delay.  At  last,  he  found  himself 
in  the  open  country,  scorching  along  a  sandy  road 
that  traversed  the  low  dunes  lying  between  the  town 
of  Calais  and  Cape  Gris  Nez.  It  was  not  easy  to 
see  far  ahead  owing  to  the  rain  and  mist,  and  he 
had  covered  a  mile  or  more  beyond  the  last  of  the 
scattered  villas  and  cottages  which  form  the  eastern 
suburb  of  the  port,  when  he  saw  the  elusive  cab  drawn 
up  by  the  roadside.  The  horse  was  steaming  as 
though  it  had  been  driven  at  a  great  pace,  and  the 
driver  stood  near,  smoking  a  cigarette,  and  protect- 
ing himself  from  the  persistent  downpour  by  an 
umbrella. 

329 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

Dale  soon  reached  the  man,  and  said  breathlessly, 
in  his  slow  French: 

"  Where  are  the  gentlemen  ?  " 

The  cabman,  who  had  evidently  been  paid  to  hold 
his  tongue,  merely  shrugged.  Dale,  breathing  hard, 
laid  a  heavy  hand  on  his  shoulder,  whereupon  the 
other  answered :  "  I  don't  know." 

This,  of  course,  was  a  lie,  and  the  fact  that  it 
was  a  lie  alarmed  Dale  quite  as  much  as  any  of  the 
sinister  incidents  which  had  already  befallen.  For 
one  thing,  there  was  no  house  into  which  five  men 
could  have  gone.  On  each  side  of  the  road  were 
bleak  sandhills;  to  the  right  was  the  sea,  gray  and 
lowering  beneath  a  leaden-hued  sky  that  seemed  to 
weep  above  a  dead  earth.  Here,  undoubtedly,  was 
the  cab,  since  Dale  could  swear  to  both  horse  and 
man.  Where,  then,  were  its  occupants? 

Having  to  depend  upon  his  wits,  he  gave  no  further 
heed  to  the  Frenchman,  but,  fancying  that  he  saw 
vestiges  of  recent  footmarks  on  the  right,  or  sea- 
ward, side  of  the  road,  and  dragging  the  bicycle  with 
him,  he  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  nearest  dune,  as 
he  believed  that  a  view  of  the  sands  could  be  obtained 
from  that  point.  He  was  right.  The  sea  was  at 
a  greater  distance  than  he  imagined  would  be  the 
case,  but  a  wide  strip  of  firm  sand,  its  wet  patches 
glistening  dully  in  the  half-light,  extended  to  the 
water's  edge  almost  from  the  base  of  the  hillock  on 
which  he  stood. 

At   first,  his   anxious   eyes   strained  through  the 

330 


The  Outcome 

haze  in  vain,  until  some  circling  seagulls  caught  his 
attention,  and  then  he  discerned  some  vague  forms 
silhouetted  against  a  brighter  belt  of  the  sea  to  the 
northeast. 

Three  of  the  figures  were  black  and  motionless,  but 
two  gave  an  eerie  suggestion  of  whiteness  and  move- 
ment. Abandoning  the  bicycle,  and  hardly  realiz- 
ing why  he  should  be  so  perturbed,  Dale  ran  forward. 
Twice  he  stumbled  and  fell  amidst  the  stringy  heath 
grass,  but  he  was  up  again  in  a  frenzy  of  haste, 
and  soon  was  near  enough  to  the  group  of  men  to 
see  that  Medenham  and  Marigny,  bare-headed  and 
in  their  shirt  sleeves,  were  fighting  with  swords. 

Dale's  eyes  were  now  half-blinded  with  perspira- 
tion, for  he  had  ridden  fast  through  the  mud  from 
Calais,  and  this  final  run  through  yielding  sand  and 
clinging  sedge  was  exhausting  to  one  who  seldom 
walked  as  many  furlongs  as  he  had  covered  miles  that 
morning.  But  even  in  his  panic  of  distress  he  fancied 
that  his  master  was  pressing  the  Frenchman  severely. 
It  was  no  child's  play,  this  battle  with  cold  steel. 
The  slender,  venomous-looking  blades  whirled  and 
stabbed  with  a  fearsome  vehemence,  and  the  sharp 
rasp  of  each  riposte  and  parry  rang  out  with  a 
horrible  suggestiveness  in  the  moist  air.  And  then, 
as  he  lumbered  heavily  on,  Dale  thought  he  saw 
something  that  turned  him  sick  with  terror.  Almost 
halting,  he  swept  a  hasty  hand  across  his  eyes — 
then  he  was  sure. 

Medenham,  with  arm  extended  in  a  feint  in  tierce, 

331 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

was  bearing  so  heavily  on  his  opponent's  rapier  that 
his  right  foot  slipped,  and  he  stumbled  badly.  At 
once  Marigny  struck  with  the  deadly  quickness  and 
certainty  of  a  cobra.  His  weapon  pierced  Meden- 
ham's breast  high  up  on  the  right  side.  The  stroke 
was  so  true  and  furious  that  the  Englishman,  already 
unbalanced,  was  driven  on  to  his  back  on  the  sand. 
Marigny  wrenched  the  blade  free,  and  stooped  with 
obvious  intent  to  plunge  it  again  through  his  op- 
ponent's body.  A  warning  shout  from  each  of  the 
three  spectators  withheld  him.  He  scowled  vindic- 
tively, but  dared  not  make  that  second  mortal  thrust. 
These  French  gentlemen  whom  he  had  summoned 
from  Paris  were  bound  by  a  rigid  code  of  honor  that 
would  infallibly  have  caused  him  to  be  branded  as 
a  murderer  had  he  completed  matters  to  his  satis- 
faction. Nevertheless,  he  bent  and  peered  closely 
into  Medenham's  face,  gray  now  as  the  sand  on  which 
he  was  lying. 

"  I  think  it  will  serve,"  he  muttered  to  himself. 
"  May  the  devil  take  him,  but  I  thought  he  would 
get  the  better  of  me !  " 

He  turned  away  with  an  affectation  of  coolness 
which  he  was  far  from  feeling,  while  the  doctor  knelt 
to  examine  Medenham's  injury.  He  saw  someone 
running  towards  him,  but  believed  it  must  be  one  of 
the  witnesses,  and  his  eyes  fell  to  the  stained  blade 
in  his  hand. 

"  I  rather  forgot  myself "  he  began. 

But  the  excuse  was  stopped  short  by  a  blow  on 

33£ 


The  Outcome 

the  angle  of  the  jaw  that  stretched  him  by  Meden- 
ham's  side  and  apparently  as  lifeless. 

Assuredly,  Dale  was  not  versed  in  the  punctilio 
of  the  duel,  but  he  knew  how  and  where  to  hit  with 
a  fist  that  was  hard  as  one  of  his  own  spanners. 
He  put  weight  and  passion  into  that  punch,  and 
scarcely  understood  how  effective  it  was  until  he 
found  himself  struggling  in  the  grasp  of  two  excited 
Frenchmen.  He  cursed  both  them  and  Marigny 
fluently,  and  vowed  the  most  horrible  vengeance  on 
all  three,  but  soon  calmed  himself  sufficiently  to  see 
that  Count  Edouard  could  not  stir,  and  his  perturbed 
wits  then  sought  to  learn  the  extent  of  his  master's 
injury.  Still  he  swore  at  Marigny. 

"  Damn  youJ  "  he  cried  hoarsely,  "  you  would  have 
stabbed  him  as  he  was  lying  there  if  these  pals  of 
yours  hadn't  stopped  you !  " 

At  last,  recovering  some  degree  of  self-possession, 
he  assisted  the  astounded  and  rather  frightened 
Frenchmen  to  carry  Medenham  to  the  waiting  car- 
riage. One,  who  spoke  English,  asked  him  to  help 
in  rendering  a  like  service  to  Marigny,  but  he  refused 
with  an  oath,  and  the  others  dared  not  press  him, 
he  looked  so  fierce  and  threatening. 

"  Is  he  dead?  "  he  asked  the  doctor  brokenly. 

There  could  be  no  mistaking  the  meaning  of  the 
words,  for  his  red-shot  eyes  glared  fixedly  at  the  limp 
body  of  his  master.  The  other  shook  his  head,  but 
pointed  in  the  direction  of  Calais,  as  though  to  sug- 
gest that  the  sooner  the  injured  man  was  taken  to 

333 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

some  place  where  his  wound  could  be  properly  at- 
tended to,  the  better  would  be  the  faint  chance  of 
life  that  remained.  By  this  time  the  seconds  were 
approaching,  and  Marigny  had  seemingly  recovered 
to  a  slight  extent  from  the  knockout  blow  which  he 
had  received  so  unexpectedly. 

The  doctor,  who  was  the  only  self-collected  person 
present,  pointed  to  the  bicycle. 

"  Hotel,"  he  said  emphatically.  "  Go  hotel — 
quick!" 

Dale  was  minded  not  to  desert  his  master,  but  the 
anxiety  in  the  doctor's  face  warned  him  that  the 
request  ought  to  be  obeyed.  If  the  spark  of  vitality 
still  flickering  in  Medenham's  body  was  to  be  pre- 
served not  a  moment  should  be  lost  in  preparing  a 
room  for  his  reception. 

Gulping  down  his  anguish,  Dale  mounted  and  made 
off.  At  a  distant  bend  in  the  road  he  turned  his 
head  and  looked  back  along  that  dismal  heath.  All 
five  were  packed  in  the  cab,  and  the  coachman  was 

urging  the  unwilling  horse  into  a  trot. 

######## 

And  what  of  Cynthia? 

The  break  in  the  weather  was  the  one  thing  needed 
to  put  an  abrupt  end  to  all  pretense  of  enjoyment 
so  far  as  the  Windermere  tourists  were  concerned. 
Strained  relations  existed  from  the  moment  Vanrenen 
arrived  at  Chester.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life, 
Cynthia  thought  that  her  father  was  not  acting  with 
the  open-eyed  justice  which  she  expected  from  him, 

334 


The  Outcome 

and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  Peter  Vanrenen  har- 
bored an  uneasy  suspicion  that  his  daughter  had 
not  been  quite  candid  with  him.  It  was  impossible, 
of  course,  in  the  close  intimacy  of  long  hours  spent 
together  in  a  touring  car,  that  there  should  not  be 
many  references  to  Fitzroy  and  the  Mercury.  They 
were  inevitable  as  the  milestones,  and  Vanrenen,  who 
was  just  as  prone  as  other  men  to  look  at  facts 
through  his  own  spectacles,  failed  to  understand  how 
an  intelligent  girl  like  his  daughter  could  remain  in 
constant  association  with  Viscount  Medenham  for 
five  days,  and  yet  not  discover  his  identity. 

More  than  once,  indeed,  notwithstanding  the  cau- 
tion exercised  by  the  others — engaged  now  in  a  tacit 
conspiracy  to  dispel  memories  of  a  foolish  entangle- 
ment from  the  girl's  mind — the  identification  of  Fitz- 
roy with  the  young  Viscount  trembled  on  the  very 
lip  of  discovery.  Thus,  on  Friday,  when  they  had 
motored  to  Grasmere,  and  had  gathered  before  lunch 
in  the  lounge  of  the  delightfully  old-fashioned  Rothay 
Hotel,  Vanrenen  happened  to  pick  up  an  illustrated 
paper,  containing  a  page  of  pictures  of  the  Scarland 
short-horns. 

Now,  being  a  busy  man,  he  gave  little  heed  to  the 
terminological  convolutions  of  names  among  the 
British  aristocracy.  He  had  not  the  slightest  notion 
that  the  Marquis  of  Scarland's  wife  was  Medenham's 
sister,  and,  with  the  quick  interest  of  the  stock- 
breeder, he  pointed  out  to  Mrs.  Leland  an  animal  that 
resembled  one  of  his  own  pedigree  bulls,  at  present 

335 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

waxing  fat  on  the  Montana  ranch.  For  the  moment 
Mrs.  Leland  herself  had  forgotten  the  relationship 
between  the  two  men. 

"  I  met  the  Marquis  last  year  at  San  Remo,"  she 
said  heedlessly.  "  Anyone  more  unlike  a  British 
peer  you  could  not  imagine.  If  I  remember 
rightly,  he  is  a  blunt,  farmer-like  person,  but  his 
wife  is  very  charming.  By  the  way,  who  was 
she?  " 

Such  a  question  could  not  pass  Mrs.  Devar  un- 
answered. 

:I  •"  Lady  Betty  Fitzroy,"  she  chirped  instantly. 
Cynthia,  who  was  looking  through  the  window  at 
the  square-towered  little  church,  throned  midst  the 
somber  yews  which  shelter  the  graves  of  Wordsworth 
and  his  kin,  caught  the  odd  conjunction  of  names — 
"  Betty  "  and  "  Fitzroy." 

"  Who  is  that  you  are  speaking  of,  father?  "  she 
asked,  though  with  a  listless  air  that  Medenham  had 
never  seen  during  any  minute  of  those  five  happy 
days. 

"  The  Marquis  of  Scarland — the  man  from  whom 
I  bought  some  cattle  a  few  years  ago,"  he  said,  trust- 
ing to  the  directness  of  the  reply  to  carry  it  through 
unchallenged. 

Cynthia's  brows  puckered  in  a  reflective  frown. 

"  That  is  odd,"  she  murmured. 

"What  is  odd?"  asked  her  father,  while  Mrs. 
Leland  bent  over  the  periodical  to  hide  a  smile  of 
embarrassment. 

336 


The  Outcome 

"  Oh,  just  a  curious  way  of  running  in  grooves 
people  have  in  this  country.  They  call  towns  after 
men  and  men  after  towns." 

She  was  about  to  add  that  Fitzroy  had  told  her 
of  a  sister  Betty  who  was  married  to  a  man  named 
Scarland,  a  breeder  of  pedigree  stock,  but  checked 
the  impulse.  For  some  reason  known  best  to  her 
father,  he  did  not  seem  to  wish  any  mention  to  be 
made  of  the  vanished  chauffeur,  but  she  did  not  gauge 
the  true  extent  of  his  readiness  to  drop  the  subject 
on  that  occasion. 

Mrs.  Leland  looked  up,  caught  his  eye  with  a 
smile,  and  asked  how  many  miles  it  was  to  Thirlmere. 
Cynthia's  thoughts  brooded  again  on  poets  and 
lonely  graves,  and  the  danger  passed. 

Mrs.  Devar,  in  these  days,  had  recovered  her  com- 
placency. The  letter  she  wrote  from  Symon's  Yat 
had  reached  Vanrenen  from  Paris,  and  its  hearty 
disapproval  of  Fitzroy  helped  to  re-establish  his 
good  opinion  of  her.  She  heard  constantly,  too, 
from  Marigny  and  her  son.  Both  agreed  that  the 
comet-like  flight  of  Medenham  across  their  horizon 
was  rapidly  losing  its  significance.  Still,  she  was 
not  quite  happy.  Mrs.  Leland's  advent  had  thrust 
her  into  the  background,  for  the  American  widow 
was  rich,  good-looking,  and  cultured,  and  the  flow 
of  small  talk  between  the  newcomer  and  Cynthia 
left  her  as  hopelessly  out  of  range  as  used 
to  be  the  case  when  that  domineering  Meden- 
ham would  lean  back  in  the  car  and  say  things 

337 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

beyond  her  comprehension,  or  murmur  them  to 
Cynthia  if  she  happened  to  be  sitting  by  his 
side. 

Luncheon  had  ended,  but  the  clouds  which  had 
been  gathering  over  the  lake  country  during  the 
morning  suddenly  poured  a  deluge  over  a  thirsty 
land.  Thirlmere  and  Ullswater  and  the  rest  of  the 
glories  of  Westmoreland  that  lay  beyond  the  pass 
of  Dunmail  Raise  were  swallowed  up  in  a  fog  of  rain. 
Simmonds,  questioned  by  the  millionaire,  admitted 
that  a  weather-beaten  native  had  prophesied  "  a 
week  of  it,"  more  or  less. 

Four  Britons  might  have  sat  down  and  played 
Bridge  stolidly,  but  three  of  this  quartette  were 
Americans,  and  within  two  hours  of  the  change  in 
the  elements,  they  were  seated  in  the  London-bound 
train  at  Windermere  Station. 

Not  one  of  them  was  really  displeased  because  of 
this  rapid  alteration  in  their  plans.  Cynthia  was 
ill  at  ease;  Mrs.  Leland  wished  to  rejoin  her  guests 
at  Trouville;  Vanrenen,  who  was  anxious  to  com- 
plete certain  business  negotiations  in  Paris,  believed 
that  a  complete  change  of  scene  and  new  interests 
in  life  would  speedily  bring  Cynthia  back  to  her  own 
cheery  self;  while  Mrs.  Devar,  though  the  abandon- 
ment of  the  tour  meant  reversion  to  a  cheap  boarding- 
house,  was  not  sorry  that  it  had  come  to  an  end. 
In  London,  she  would  be  more  in  her  element,  and, 
at  any  rate,  she  was  beginning  to  feel  cramped 
through  sitting  three  in  a  row  in  Simmonds's  car, 

838 


The  Outcome 

after  the  luxurious  comfort  of  two  in  the  tonneau  of 
the  Mercury. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  on  Friday  evening,  while 
Medenham  was  driving  from  Cavendish  Square  to 
Charing  Cross,  Cynthia  was  crossing  London  on  a 
converging  line  from  St.  Pancras  to  the  Savoy  Hotel. 
Strange,  indeed,  was  the  play  of  Fate's  shuttle  that 
it  should  have  so  nearly  reunited  the  unseen  threads 
of  their  destinies !  Again,  a  trifling  circumstance 
conspired  to  detain  Vanrenen  in  London.  One  of 
his  business  associates  in  Paris,  rendered  impatient 
by  the  failure  of  the  great  man  to  return  as  quickly 
as  he  had  promised,  arrived  in  England  by  the  after- 
noon service  from  the  Gard  du  Nord,  and  was 
actually  standing  in  the  foyer  of  the  hotel  when 
Vanrenen  entered  with  the  others.  As  a  result  of 
this  meeting,  the  journey  to  Paris  arranged  for 
Saturday  was  postponed  till  Sunday,  and  on  this 
trivial  base  was  destined  to  be  built  a  very  remark- 
able edifice. 

It  chanced  that  Mrs.  Leland,  too,  decided  to  have 
a  day  in  London,  and  she  and  Cynthia  went  out 
early.  They  returned  to  lunch  at  the  hotel,  and 
the  girl,  pleading  lack  of  appetite,  slipped  out  alone 
to  buy  a  copy  of  Milton's  poems.  From  the  book- 
seller's she  wandered  into  the  Embankment  Gardens. 

She  was  a  dutiful  daughter,  and  had  resolved  to 
obey  without  question  her  father's  stern  command 
not  to  enter  again  into  communication  with  a  man 
of  whom  he  so  strongly  disapproved.  But  she  was 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

not  content,  for  all  that,  and  the  dripping  trees 
and  rain-sodden  flowers  seemed  now  to  accord  with 
her  distraught  mood.  The  fine,  though  not  bright, 
interval  that  had  tempted  her  forth  soon  gave  way 
to  another  shower,  and  she  ran  for  shelter  into  the 
Charing  Cross  Station  of  the  Metropolitan  Railway. 
She  stood  in  one  of  the  doorways  looking  out  dis- 
consolately over  the  river,  when  a  taxicab  drove  up 
and  deposited  its  occupant  at  the  station.  Then 
some  unbidden  impulse  led  her  to  hail  the  driver. 

"  Take  me  to  Cavendish  Square,"  she  said. 

"What  number,  miss?"  he  asked. 

"  No  number.  Just  drive  slowly  round  the  square 
and  return  to  the  Savoy  Hotel." 

He  eyed  her  curiously,  but  made  no  comment. 
Soon  she  was  speeding  up  Regent  Street,  bent  on 
gratifying  the  truly  curious  whim  of  seeing  what 
manner  of  residence  it  was  that  Fitzroy  occupied  in 
London.  Fate  had  failed  in  her  weaving  during 
the  previous  evening,  but  on  the  present  occasion 
she  combined  warp  and  weft  without  any  error. 

The  cab  was  crawling  past  the  Fairholme  mansion, 
and  Cynthia's  astonished  eyes  were  regarding  its  style 
and  general  air  of  magnificence  with  some  degree  of 
heart-sinking — for  it  did  then  seem  to  be  true  that 
Mrs.  Devar's  original  estimate  of  Fitzroy  was  cor- 
rect— when  a  man  sprang  out  of  another  taxi  in 
front  of  the  door,  and  glanced  at  her  while  in  the 
very  act  of  running  up  the  steps.  Recognition  was 
mutual.  Dale  muttered  under  his  breath  a  wholly 

340 


The  Outcome 

unjustifiable  assumption  as  to  his  future  state,  halted 
dubiously,  and  then  signaled  to  Cynthia's  driver  to 
stop.  He  strode  towards  her  across  the  road,  and 
thrust  his  head  through  the  open  window. 

"  Of  course,  miss,"  he  said  roughly,  "  you  don't 
know  what  has  happened  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  too  greatly  surprised  to  resent  his 
strange  manner. 

"  Well,"  he  growled,  "  somebody's  been  nearly 
killed  on  your  account,  that's  all." 

"  Somebody,"  she  repeated,  and  her  lips  went  white. 

"  Yes,  you  ought  to  guess  well  enough  who  it  is. 
He  and  that  rotten  Frenchman  fought  a  duel  this 
morning  on  the  sands  near  Calais,  and  Marinny  as 
good  as  murdered  him." 

Dale's  heart  was  sore  against  her  as  the  cause 
of  his  master's  plight,  but  even  in  his  own  distress 
he  was  quick  to  see  the  shrinking  terror  in  the  girl's 
«yes. 

"Are  you  speaking  of  Mr.  Fitzroy? "  she  de- 
manded. "  Are  you  telling  the  truth?  Oh,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  man,  tell  me  what  you  mean." 

"  I  mean  what  I  say,  miss,"  said  he  more  softly. 
"  I  have  left  him  almost  at  death's  door  in  an  hotel 
at  Calais.  That  damned  Frenchman  ...  I  beg 
your  pardon,  miss,  but  I  can't  contain  myself  when 
I  think  of  him — ran  a  sword  through  him  this  morn- 
ing, and  would  have  killed  him  outright  if  he  hadn't 
been  stopped  by  some  other  gentlemen.  And  now, 
there  he  is,  a-lying  in  the  hotel,  with  a  doctor  and 

311 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

a  nurse  trying  to  coax  the  life  back  into  him,  while 
I  had  to  scurry  back  here  to  tell  his  people." 

Some  women  might  have  shrieked  and  fainted — 
not  so  Cynthia.  At  that  instant  there  was  one  thing 
to  be  done,  and  one  only.  She  saw  the  open  road, 
and  took  it  without  faltering  or  thought  as  to  the 
future. 

"  When  is  the  next  train  to  Calais  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  At  nine  o'clock  to-night,  miss." 

"  Oh,  God !  "  she  wailed  under  her  breath. 

Dale's  voice  grew  even  more  sympathetic. 

"  Was  you  a-thinking  of  going  to  him,  miss  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Would  that  I  could  fly  there,"  she  moaned. 

He  scratched  the  back  of  his  ear,  for  it  was  by 
such  means  that  Dale  sought  inspiration. 

"  Dash  it  all ! "  he  cried.  "  I  wish  I  had  seen 
you  half  an  hour  earlier.  There  is  a  train  that 
leaves  Charing  Cross  at  twenty  minutes  past  two. 
It  goes  by  way  of  Folkestone  and  Boulogne,  and 
from  Boulogne  one  can  get  easy  to  Calais.  Anyhow, 
what's  the  use  of  talkin' — it  is  too  late." 

Cynthia  glanced  at  her  watch.  It  was  just 
twenty-five  minutes  to  three. 

"  How  far  is  Folkestone?  "  was  the  immediate  de- 
mand generated  by  her  practical  American  brain. 

"  Seventy-two  miles,"  said  the  chauffeur,  who  knew; 
his  roads  out  of  London. 

"  And  what  time  does  the  boat  leave?  " 

A  light  irradiated  his  face,  and  he  swore  volubly. 

342 


The  Outcome 

"We  can  do  it!"  he  shouted.  "By  the  Lord, 
we  can  do  it !  Are  you  game  ?  " 

Game?  The  light  that  leaped  to  her  eyes  was 
sufficient  answer.  He  tore  open  the  door  of  the 
cab,  roaring  to  the  driver: 

"  Round  that  corner  to  the  right — quick — then 
into  the  mews  at  the  back !  " 

Within  two  minutes  the  Mercury  was  attracting 
the  attention  of  the  police  as  it  whirled  through 
the  traffic  towards  Westminster  Bridge.  Dale's  face 
was  set  like  a  block  of  granite.  He  had  risked  a 
good  deal  in  leaving  his  master  at  the  point  of  death 
at  Calais ;  he  was  now  risking  more,  far  more,  in 
rushing  back  to  Calais  again  without  having  dis- 
charged the  duty  which  had  dragged  him  from  that 
master's  bedside.  But  he  thought  he  had  secured 
the  best  physician  London  could  bring  to  the  suf- 
ferer's aid,  and  the  belief  sustained  him  in  an  action 
that  was  almost  heroic.  He  was  a  simple-minded 
fellow,  with  a  marked  taste  for  speed  in  both  animals 
and  machinery,  but  he  had  hit  on  one  well-defined 
trait  in  human  nature  when  he  decided  that  if  a  man 
is  dying  for  the  sake  of  a  woman  the  presence  of 
that  woman  may  cure  when  all  else  will  fail. 


343 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  END  OF  ONE  TOUB. :  THE  BEGINNING  OF  ANOTHER 

CYNTHIA  found  him  lying  in  a  darkened  room. 
The  nurse  had  just  raised  some  of  the  blinds;  a 
dismal  day  was  drawing  to  its  close,  and  more  light 
was  needed  ere  she  could  distinguish  marked  bottles, 
and  doses,  and  the  rest  of  the  appurtenances  of 
dangerous  illness. 

An  English  nurse  would  have  forbidden  the  pres- 
ence of  a  stranger;  this  French  one  acted  with  more 
discretion  if  less  of  strict  science. 

"  Madam  is  his  sister,  perhaps  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  No." 

"A  relative,  then?" 

"  No ;  a  woman  who  loves  him." 

That  heartbroken  admission  told  the  whole  tale  to 
the  quick-witted  Frenchwoman.  There  had  been  a 
duel;  one  man  was  seriously  injured;  the  other,  she 
had  heard,  was  also  receiving  medical  attention  in 
another  hotel — the  temoins,  wistful  to  avoid  the 
interrogation  of  the  law,  had  so  arranged — and  here 
was  the  woman  who  had  caused  the  quarrel. 

Well,  such  was  the  will  of  Providence!  These 
things  had  been  since  man  and  woman  were  expelled 

844 


One  Tour  Ends:  Another  Begim 

from  Paradise — for  the  nurse,  though  a  devout  Cath- 
olic, suspected  that  Genesis  had  suppressed  certain 
details  of  the  first  fratricide — and  would  continue, 
she  supposed,  until  the  Millennium. 

She  nodded  cheerfully. 

"  There  is  every  reason  to  hope,  but  he  must  not 
be  disturbed — not  excited,  that  is,"  she  added,  seeing 
the  wan  agony  in  Cynthia's  face. 

The  girl  tiptoed  to  the  side  of  the  bed.  Meden- 
ham's  eyes  were  closed,  but  he  was  muttering  some- 
thing. She  bent  and  kissed  his  forehead,  and  a 
strange  smile  broke  through  the  tense  lines  of  pain. 
Even  in  his  semi-conscious  state  he  felt  the  touch  of 
those  exquisite  lips. 

"  My  Lady  Alice !  "  he  said. 

She  choked  back  a  sob.  He  was  dreaming  of 
"  Comus  " — standing  with  her  in  the  ruined  banquet- 
ing hall  of  Ludlow  Castle. 

"  Yes,  your  Lady  Alice,"  she  breathed. 

A  slight  quiver  shook  him. 

"Don't  teU  Cynthia,"  he  said  brokenly.  "She 
must  never  know.  .  .  .  Ah,  if  I  hadn't  slipped,  I 
would  have  quieted  his  viperish  tongue.  .  .  .  But 
Cynthia  must  not  know ! " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear,  Cynthia  does  know !  It 
is  you  who  know  not.  Kind  Heaven,  let  him  live! 
Grant  that  I  may  tell  him  all  that  I  know ! " 

She  could  not  help  it;  the  words  welled  forth  of 
their  own  accord;  but  the  nurse  touched  her  arm 
gently. 

345 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

"  It  is  a  little  fever,"  she  whispered  with  ready 
sympathy.  "  Soon  it  will  pass.  He  will  sleep,  and, 
when  he  awakes,  it  is  perhaps  permissible  that  you 

should  speak  to  him." 

******** 

Well,  it  was  permissible.  The  age  of  miracles 
had  not  passed  for  those  two.  Even  the  experienced 
doctor  marveled  at  the  strength  of  a  man  who  at 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning  could  have  a  sword  driven 
through  the  tissues  in  perilous  proximity  to  the  right 
lung,  and  yet,  at  nine  o'clock  on  that  same  night, 
was  able  to  announce  an  unalterable  resolution  to  get 
up  and  dress  for  breakfast  next  day.  That,  of 
course,  was  a  pleasing  fiction  intended  for  Cynthia's 
benefit.  It  served  its  purpose  admirably.  The 
kindly  nurse  displayed  an  unexpected  firmness  in 
leading  her  to  her  own  room,  there  to  eat  and 
sleep. 

For  Cynthia  had  an  ordeal  to  face.  Many  things 
had  been  said  in  the  car  during  that  mad  rush  to 
Folkestone,  and  on  board  the  steamer  which  ferried 
Dale  and  herself  to  Boulogne  she  had  wrung  from 
the  taciturn  chauffeur  a  full,  true,  and  particular 
account  of  Medenham,  his  family,  and  his  doings 
throughout  as  much  of  his  life  as  Dale  either  knew 
or  guessed.  By  the  time  they  reached  Boulogne 
she  had  made  up  her  mind  with  a  characteristic  deci- 
sion. One  long  telegram  to  her  father,  another  to 
Lord  Fairholme,  caused  heart-burning  and  dismay 
not  alone  in  certain  apartments  of  the  Savoy  Hotel, 

316 


One  Tour  Ends:  Another  Begins 

but  in  the  aristocratic  aloofness  of  Cavendish  Square 
and  Curzon  Street.  As  a  result,  two  elderly  men, 
a  younger  one,  in  the  person  of  the  Marquis  of 
Scarland,  and  two  tearful  women — Lady  St.  Maur 
and  Mrs.  Leland — met  at  Charing  Cross  about  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning  to  travel  by  special  train  and 
steamer.  Another  woman  telegraphed  from  Shrop- 
shire saying  that  baby  was  better,  and  that  she  would 
follow  by  the  first  steamer  on  Sunday.  Mrs.  Devar 
did  not  await  developments.  She  fled,  dinnerless,  to 
some  burrow  in  Bayswater. 

These  alarums  and  excursions  were  accompanied 
by  the  ringing  of  telephones  and  the  flight  of  car- 
riages back  and  forth  through  muddy  London,  and 
Cynthia  was  called  on  to  deal  with  a  whole  sheaf 
of  telegrams  which  demanded  replies  either  to  Dover 
or  to  Scarland  Towers  in  Shropshire. 

With  a  man  like  Vanrenen  at  one  end,  however, 
and  a  woman  like  his  daughter  at  the  other,  it  might 
be  fairly  assumed  that  even  the  most  complex  skein 
of  circumstances  might  be  resolved  from  its  tangle. 
As  a  matter  of  curious  coincidence,  the  vessel  which 
carried  Marigny  to  England  passed  in  mid-Channel 
its  sister  ship  conveying  the  grief-stricken  party  of 
relatives  to  France.  It  happened,  too,  that  the 
clouds  from  the  Atlantic  elected  to  hover  over  Britain 
rather  than  France,  and  when  Cynthia  stood  on  the 
quay  to  meet  the  incoming  steamer,  a  burst  of  sun- 
shine from  the  east  gave  promise  of  a  fine  if  some- 
what blustery  day. 

347 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

Five  pairs  of  eyes  sought  her  face  anxiously  while 
the  vessel  was  warping  to  the  quay  opposite  the  Gare 
Maritime.  They  looked  there  for  tidings,  and  they 
were  not  disappointed. 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Vanrenen  with  an  un- 
wonted huskiness  in  his  voice.  "  Cynthia  wouldn't 
smile  if  she  hadn't  good  news." 

"  Thank  God  for  that !  "  muttered  the  Earl,  bend- 
ing his  head  to  examine  a  landing  ticket,  the  clear 
type  of  which  he  was  utterly  unable  to  read. 

"  I  never  thought  for  a  minute  that  any  French- 
man could  kill  George,"  cried  Scarland  cheerfully. 

But  the  two  women  said  nothing,  could  see  nothing, 
and  the  white-faced  but  smiling  Cynthia  standing 
near  the  shoreward  end  of  the  gangway  had  vanished 
in  a  sudden  mist. 

Of  course,  Marigny  was  right  when  he  foresaw  that 
Vanrenen  could  not  meet  either  Medenham  or  any  of 
his  relatives  for  five  minutes  without  his  "  poor  little 
cobweb  of  intrigue  "  being  dissipated  once  and  forever. 

With  the  marvelous  insight  that  every  woman  pos- 
sesses when  dealing  with  the  affairs  of  the  man  she 
loves,  Cynthia  combined  the  eloquence  of  an  orator 
with  the  practiced  skill  of  a  clever  lawyer  in  reveal- 
ing each  turn  and  twist  of  the  toils  which  had  en- 
veloped her  since  that  day  in  Paris  when  her  father 
happened  to  suggest  in  Marigny's  hearing  that  she 
might  utilize  his  hired  car  for  a  tour  in  England, 
while  he  concluded  the  business  that  was  detaining 
him  in  the  French  Capital.  Nothing  escaped  her; 

348 


One  Tour  Ends:  Another  Begins 

she  unraveled  every  knot;  Medenham's  few  broken 
words,  supplemented  by  the  letter  to  his  brother-in- 
law  which  he  told  her  to  obtain  from  Dale,  threw 
light  on  all  the  dark  places. 

But  the  gloom  had  fled.  It  was  a  keenly  in- 
terested, almost  light-hearted,  little  party  that  walked 

through  the  sunshine  to  the  Hotel  de  la  Plage. 
##*#***# 

Dale,  abashed,  sheepish,  yet  oddly  confident  that 
all  was  for  the  best  in  a  queer  world,  met  the  Earl 
of  Fairholme  later  in  the  day;  his  lordship,  who 
had  been  pining  for  someone  to  pitch  into,  addressed 
him  sternly. 

"  This  is  a  nice  game  you've  been  playing,"  he 
said.  "  I  always  thought  you  were  a  man  of  steady 
habits,  a  little  given  to  horse-racing  perhaps,  but 
otherwise  a  decent  member  of  the  community." 

"  So  I  was  before  I  met  Viscount  Medenham,  my 
lord,"  was  the  daring  answer.  For  Dale  was  no 
fool,  and  he  had  long  since  seen  how  certain  ap- 
parently hostile  forces  had  adapted  themselves  to 
new  conditions. 

"  Before  you  left  him,  you  mean,"  growled  the 
Earl.  "  What  sort  of  sense  was  there  in  letting  him 
fight  a  duel? — it  could  have  been  stopped  in  fifty 
different  ways." 

"  Yes,  my  lord,  but  I  never  suspicioned  a  word  of 
it  till  he  went  off  in  the  cab  with  them " 

The  Earl  held  up  a  warning  finger. 

"  Hush,"  he  said,  "  this  is  France,  remember,  and 

349 


Cynthia  s  Chauffeur 

you  are   the   foreigner  here.       Where   is   my   son's 
car?  " 

"  In  the  garage  at  Folkestone,  my  lord." 
"  Well,  you  had  better  cross  by  an  early  boat 
to-morrow  and  bring  it  here.  You  understand  all 
the  preliminaries,  I  suppose?  Find  out  from  the 
Customs  people  what  deposit  is  necessary,  and  come 
to  me  for  the  money." 

So  it  happened  that  when  Medenham  was  able  to 
take  his  first  drive  in  the  open  air,  the  Mercury 
awaited  him  and  Cynthia  at  the  door  of  the  hotel. 
It  positively  sparkled  in  the  sunlight ;  never  was  car 
more  spick  and  span.  The  brasswork  scintillated, 
each  cylinder  was  rhythmical,  and  a  microscope  would 
not  have  revealed  one  speck  of  dust  on  body  or 

upholstery. 

******** 

On  a  day  in  July — for  everybody  agreed  that  not 
even  a  marriage  should  be  allowed  to  interfere  with 
the  Scottish  festival  of  St.  Grouse — that  same  shin- 
ing Mercury  with  the  tonneau  decorously  cased  in 
glass  for  the  hour,  drew  up  at  the  edge  of  a  red 
carpet  laid  down  from  curb  to  stately  porch  of  St. 
George's,  Hanover  Square,  and  Dale  turned  a  grin- 
ning face  to  the  doorway  when  Viscount  Medenham 
led  his  bride  down  the  steps  through  a  shower  of  rice 
and  good  wishes. 

Wedding  breakfasts  and  receptions  are  all  "  much 
of  a  muchness,"  as  the  Mad  Hatter  said  to  another 
Alice,  and  it  was  not  until  the  Mercury  was  speeding 

350 


One  Tour  Ends:  Another  Begins 

north  by  west  to  Scarland  Towers,  "  lent  to  the 
happy  pair  for  the  honeymoon  "  while  Betty  took 
the  children  to  recuperate  at  the  seaside,  that  Cynthia 
felt  she  was  really  married. 

"  I  have  a  bit  of  news  for  you,"  said  her  husband, 
taking  a  letter  from  his  pocket.  "  I  received  a  letter 
by  this  morning's  post.  A  heap  of  others  remain 
unopened  till  you  and  I  have  time  to  go  through 
them;  but  this  one  caught  my  attention,  and  I  read 
it  while  I  was  dressing." 

He  had  an  excellent  excuse  for  putting  his  arm 
round  her  waist  while  he  held  the  open  sheet  so 
that  both  might  peruse  it  at  the  same  time.  It 
ran: 

MY  DEAR  VISCOUNT — Of  course  I  meant  to  kill  you,  but 
fate  decided  otherwise.  Indeed,  with  my  usual  candor,  which 
by  this  time  you  may  have  learned  to  admire,  I  may  add 
that  only  the  special  kind  of  dog's  luck  which  attaches  itself 
to  members  of  my  family,  saved  me  from  being  killed  by 
you.  But  that  is  ancient  history  now. 

I  am  glad  to  hear  that  your  wound  was  not  really  serious. 
There  was  no  sense  in  merely  crippling  you — my  only  chance 
lay  in  procuring  your  untimely  demise.  Having  failed,  how- 
ever, I  want  to  tell  you,  with  the  utmost  sincerity,  that  I  never 
had  the  slightest  intention  of  carrying  out  my  abominable 
threat  in  regard  to  the  fair  lady  who  is  now  Viscountess 
Medenham.  Were  you  other  than  a  heavy-witted  and  thick- 
skinned  Briton,  you  would  have  known  that  I  was  goading  you 
into  issuing  a  challenge. 

This  piece  of  information  is  my  wedding  present;  it  is  all 
I  can  give,  because,  metaphorically  speaking,  I  haven't  a  sou! 

I  am,  as  you  see,  domiciled  in  Brussels,  where  my  car  is 
attached  by  an  unsympathetic  hotel  proprietor.  Still,  I  am 
devoid  of  rancor,  and  mean  to  keep  a  sharp  eye  for  a  well- 

351 


Cynthia's  Chauffeur 

favored  and  well-dowered  wife;  such  a  one,  in  fact,  as  you 
managed  to  snap  up  under  my  very  nose. 
With  a  thousand  compliments,  I  am, 

Yours  very  sincerely, 

»         EDOUABD  MARIGXY. 

P.S. — Devar  went  "  steerage  "  to  the  United  States  when  he 
heard  of  our  affair.  He  thought  it  was  all  up  with  you,  and 
with  him. 


"  The  wretch !  "  murmured  Cynthia.  "  Can  he 
really  believe  even  yet  that  I  would  have  married 
him?" 

"  I  don't  care  tuppence  what  he  believes,"  said 
Medenham,  giving  her  a  reassuring  hug.  "  Indeed, 
I  have  a  mind  to  write  and  ask  him  how  much  he 
owes  in  that  hotel.  Don't  you  see,  my  dear,  that 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  Marigny  there  was  a  chance 
that  I  might  have  left  you  at  Bristol." 

"  Never !  "  cooed  Cynthia. 

"  Well,  now  I  have  got  you,  I  am  beginning  to 
imagine  all  sorts  of  terrible  possibilities  which  might 
have  parted  us.  I  remember  thinking,  when  my  foot 
slipped  ..." 

"  Oh,  don't !  "  she  murmured.  "  I  can't  bear  to 
hear  of  that.  Sometimes,  in  Calais,  I  awoke  scream- 
ing, and  then  I  knew  I  had  seen  it  in  my  dreams. 
.  .  .  There,  you  have  disarranged  my  hat!  .  .  . 
But  I  don't  think  much  of  your  budget,  anyhow; 
mine  is  a  great  deal  more  to  the  point.  My  father 
told  me  this  morning  that  he  is  sure  he  will  feel  very 
lonely  now.  He  never  meant,  he  said,  to  put  anyone 

352 


One  Tour  Ends:  Another  Begins 

in  my  dear  mother's  place,  but  he  will  miss  me  so 
greatly — that,  perhaps,  Mrs.  Leland " 

"  By  Jove,"  cried  Medenham,  "  that  will  be  splen- 
did! I  like  Mrs.  Leland.  At  one  time,  do  you 
know,  I  rather  fancied  she  might  become  my  step- 
mother, now  it  seems  I  shall  have  to  greet  her  as  a 
mother-in-law.  She  was  bound  to  come  into  the 
family  one  way  or  another.  When  is  it  to  be?  " 

Cynthia  laughed  delightedly. 

"  Father  looked  so  confused  when  I  asked  him. 
Say,  wouldn't  it  be  a  joke  if  Simmonds  brought  them 
to  Scarland  Towers  one  day,  and  they  were  an- 
nounced by  some  solemn  footman  as  '  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Vanrenen '  ?  " 

"  Cynthia,  you  know,"  he  teased  her. 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  am  a  good  guesser,"  she  said. 

And  she  was. 


THE  END 


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tions, and  a  love  story  of  the  purest  and  noblest  type  mark  this 
most  remarkable  religious  romance. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET  &   DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

WHEN  A  MAN  MARRIES.  By  Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 
Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher  and  Mayo  Bunker. 

A  young  artist,  whose  wife  had  recently  divorced  him,  finds  that 
a  visit  is  due  from  his  Aunt  Selina,  an  elderly  lady  having  ideas 
about  things  quite  apart  from  the  Bohemian  set  in  which  her 
nephew  is  a  shining  light.  The  way  in  which  matters  are  tempo, 
ranly  adjusted  forms  the  motif  of  the  story. 

A  farcical  extravaganza,  dramatized  under  the  title  of  "Seven  Days* 

THE  FASHIONABLE    ADVENTURES   OF  JOSHUA 

CRAIG.    By  David  Graham  Phillips.    Illustrated. 
A  young  westerner,  uncouth  and  unconventional,  appears  ip 
political  and  social  life  in  Washington.    He  attains  power  in  poli- 
tics, and  a  young  woman  of  the  exclusive  set  becomes  his  wife,  un- 
dertaking his  education  in  social  amenities. 

u  DOC."  GORDON.  By  Mary  E.  Wilkins-Freeman.  Illus- 
trated by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Against  the  familiar  background  of  American  town  life,  the 
author  portrays  a  group  of  people  strangely  involved  in  a  mystery. 
"Doc.  Gordon,  the  one  physician  of  the  place,  Dr.  Elliot,  hi3 
assistant,  a  beautiful  woman  and  her  altogether  charming  daughter 
are  all  involved  in  the  plot.  A  novel  of  great  interest 
HOLY  ORDERS.  By  Marie  Corelli. 

A  dramatic  story,  in  which  is  pictured  a  clergyman  in  touch  with 
society  people,  stage  favorites,  simple  village  folk,  powerful  finan- 
ciers and  others,  each  presenting  vital  problems  to  this  man  "  in 
holy  orders  " — problems  that  we  are  now  struggling  with  in  America. 

KATRINE.    By  Elinor  Macartney  Lane.  With  frontispiece. 

Katrine,  the  heroine  of  this  story,  is  a  lovely  Irish  girl,  of  lowly 
birth,  but  gifted  with  a  beautiful  voice. 

The  narrative  is  based  on  the  facts  of  an  actual  singer's  career, 
and  the  viewpoint  throughout  is  a  most  exalted  one. 

THE   FORTUNES   OF  FIFI.    By  Molly  Elliot  SeawelL 

Illustrated  by  T.  de  Thulstrup. 

A  story  of  life  in  France  at  the  tune  of  the  first  Napoleon.    FifL 
,  a  glad,  mad  little  actress  of  eighteen,  is  the  star  performer  in  a  third 
rate  Parisian  theatre.    A  story  as  dainty  as  a  Watteau  painting. 

SHE  THAT  HESITATES.  By  Harris  Dickson.  *Illus. 
trated  by  C.  W.  Relyea. 

The  scene  of  this  dashing  romance  shifts  from  Dresden  to  St. 
Petersburg  in  the  reign  of  Peter  the  Great,  and  then  to  New  Orleans. 

The  hero  is  a  French  Soldier  of  Fortune,  and  the  princess,  who 
hesitates— but  you  must  read  the  story  to  know  how  she  that  hesitates 
may  be  lost  and  yet  saved. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET  &   DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

HAPPY  HAWKINS.    By  Robert  Alexander  Wason.   Illus"- 

trated  by  Howard  Giles. 

A  ranch  and  cowboy  novel.  Happy  Hawkins  tells  his  own  story 
with  such  a  fine  capacity  for  knowing  how  to  do  it  and  with  so  much 
humor  that  the  reader's  interest  is  held  in  surprise,  then  admiration 
and  at  last  in  positive  affection. 

COMRADES.  By  Thomas  Dixon,  Jr.  Illustrated  by  C.  D.' 
Williams. 

The  locale  of  this  story  is  in  California,  where  a  few  socialists 
establish  a  little  community. 

The  author  leads  the  little  band  along  the  path  of  disillusion* 
ment,  and  gives  some  brilliant  flashes  of  light  on  one  side  of  an 
Important  question. 

TONO-BUNGAY.    By  Herbert  George  Wells. 

The  hero  of  this  novel  is  a  young  man  who,  through  hard  work, 
earns  a  scholarship  and  goes  to  London. 

Written  with  a  frankness  verging  on  Rousseau's,  Mr.  Wells  still 
uses  rare  discrimination  and  the  border  line  of  propriety  is  never 
crossed.    An  entertaining  book  with  both  a  story  and  a  moral,  and 
without  a  dull  page — Mr.  Wells's  most  notable  achievement. 
A  HUSBAND  BY  PROXY.    By  Jack  Steele. 

A  young  criminologist,  but  recently  arrived  in  New  York  city, 
Is  drawn  into  a  mystery,  partly  through  financial  need  and  partly 
through  his  interest  in  a  beautiful  woman,  who  seems  at  times  the 
simplest  child  and  again  a  perfect  mistress  of  intrigue  A  baffling 
detective  story. 

LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN.  By  George  Horton.  Illus- 
trated by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

Mr.  Horton's  powerful  romance  stands  in  a  new  field  and  brings 
an  almost  unknown  world  in  reality  before  the  reader — the  world 
of  conflict  between  Greek  and  Turk  on  the  Island  of  Crete.  The 
"  Helen  "  of  the  story  is  a  Greek,  beautiful,  desolate,  defiant — pure 
as  snow. 

There  is  a  certain  new  force  about  the  story,  a  kind  of  master* 
craftsmanship  and  mental  dominance  that  holds  the  reader. 
.THE     MASTER    OF    APPLEBY.     By    Francis    Lynde, 
Illustrated  by  T.  de  Thulstrup. 

"A  novel  tale  concerning  itself  in  part  with  the  great  struggle  in 
the  two  Carolinas,  but  chiefly  with  the  adventures  therein  of  two 
gentlemen  who  loved  one  and  the  same  lady. 

A  strong,  masculine  and  persuasive  story. 
A  MODERN  MADpNNA.    By  Caroline  Abbot  Stanley. 

A  story  of  American  life,  founded  on  facts  as  they  existed  some 
years  ago  in  the  District  of  Columbia.  The  theme  is  the  maternal 
love  and  splendid  courage  of  a  woman. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


THE  NOVELS  OF 

GEORGE  BARR  McCUTCHEON 

GRAUSTARK. 

A  story  of  love  behind  a  throne,  telling  how  a  young 
American  met  a  lovely  girl  and  followed  her  to  a  new  and 
'  strange  country.    A  thrilling,  dashing  narrative. 
BEVERLY  OF  GRAUSTARK. 

Beverly  is  a  bewitching  American  girl  who  has  gone  to 
that  stirring  little  principality — Graustark — to  visit  her  friend 
the  princess,  and  there  has  a  romantic  affair  of  her  own. 
BREWSTER'S  MILLIONS. 

A  young  man  is  required  to  spend  one  million  dollars  in 
one  year  in  order  to  inherit  seven.    How  he  does  it  forms  the 
basis  of  a  lively  story. 
CASTLE  CRANEYCROW. 

The  story  revolves  round  the  abduction  of  a  young  Amer- 
ican woman,  her  imprisonment  in  an  old  castle  and  the  adven- 
tures created  through  her  rescue. 
COWARDICE  COURT. 

An  amusing  social  feud  in  the  Adirondacks  in  which  an 
English  girl  is  tempted  into  being  a  traitor  by  a  romantic 
young  American,  forms  the  plot. 
THE  DAUGHTER  OF  ANDERSON  CROW. 

The  story  centers  about  the  adopted  daughter  of  the  town 
mnrshal  in  a  western  village.    Her  parentage  is  shrouded  in 
mystery,  and  the  story  concerns  the  secret  that  deviously 
works  to  the  surface. 
THE  MAN  FROM  BRODNEY'S. 

The  hero  meets  a  princess  in  a  far-away  island  among 
fanatically  hostile  Musselmen.    Romantic  love  making  amid 
amusing  situations  and  exciting  adventures. 
.  NEDRA. 

A  young  couple  elope  from  Chicage  to  go  to   London 
traveling  as  brother  and  sistir.    They  are  shipwrecked  and  a 
strange  mix-up  occurs  on  account  of  it. 
THE  SHERRODS. 

The  scene  is  the  Middle  West  and  centers  around  a  man 
Arho  leads  a  double  life.    A  most  enthralling  novel. 
TRUXTON  KING. 

A  handsome  good  natured  young  fellow  ranges  on  the 
earth  looking  for  romantic  adventures  and  is  finally  enmeshed 
in  most  complicated  intrigues  in  Graustark. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGIN'S 
STORIES   OF  PURE   DELIGHT 

Full   of   originality   and    humor,    kindliness    and  cheer 

THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW.  Large  Octavo.  Decorative 
text  pages,  printed  in  two  colors.  Illustrations  by  Alice 
Barber  Stephens. 

One  of  the  prettiest  romances  that  has  ever  come  from  this 
author's  pen  is  made  to  bloom  on  Christmas  Eve  in  the  sweet 
freshness  of  an  old  New  England  meeting  house. 

PENELOPE'S  PROGRESS.  Attractive  cover  design  in 
colors. 

Scotland  is  the  background  for  the  merry  doings  of  three  very 
clever  and  original  American  girls.  Their  adventures  in  adjusting 
themselves  to  the  Scot  and  his  land  are  full  of  humor. 

PENELOPE'S  IRISH  EXPERIENCES.  Uniform  in  style 
with  "Penelope's  Progress." 

The  trio  of  clever  girls  who  rambled  over  Scotland  cross  the  bor- 
der to  the  Emerald  Isle,  and  again  they  sharpen  their  wits  against 
new  conditions,  and  revel  in  the  land  of  laughter  and  wit. 

REBECCA  OF  SUNNYBROOK  FARM. 

One  of  the  most  beautifu?  studies  of  childhood — Rebecca's  artis- 
tic, unusual  and  quaintly  charming  qualities  stand  cut  midst  a  circle 
of  austere  New  Englanclers,  The  stage  version  is  making  a  phe- 
nomenal dramatic  record. 

NEW  CHRONICLES  OF  REBECCA.  With  illustrations 
by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

Some  more  quaintly  amusing  chronicles  that  carry  Rebecca 
through  various  stages  to  her  eighteenth  birthday. 

ROSE  O'  THE  RIVER.  With  illustrations  by  George 
Wright 

The  simple  story  of  Rose,  a  country  girl  and  Stephen  a  sturdy 
young  farmer,  The  gM's  fancy  for  a  city  man  interrupts  their  love 
and  merges  the  story  into  an  emotional  strain  where  the  reader  fol- 
lows the  events  with  rapt  attention. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


University  of  California 

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Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


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